Hang On, There's A Story Here?
by Amber Greene
Summary: Prequel to "Two Sides to the Story." During their 7th year at Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione reminisce about certain events starting from the summer before their 5th year. CHAPTER 8 POSTED!
1. Chapter 1 Ron's Insane

**HANG ON, THERE'S A STORY HERE?**  
  
  


**DISCLAIMER:** The Characters, Places, and all other Things that you know for a fact belong to J.K. Rowling really do belong to her. Only the crazy dialogue, situations and behavior that are so obviously OOC belong to me.   
  
  
**A/N:** Thanks to Audrey for hitting me on the head, thereby removing my writer's block. :D 

  
  
  


**CHAPTER ONE - RON'S INSANE**  
  
  


Sometimes being Head Boy and Quidditch Captain can be a royal pain. Ronald Weasley learnt the hard way that scheduling Quidditch practice at six a.m., leading study sessions for Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.s, going to class, organizing Hogsmeade weekend visits, presiding over Prefect's meetings with Hermione, and then patrolling the corridors before going to bed, can be quite a handful, even with hands as large as his. Especially today, the day before the final match against Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup. His nerves were stretched tightly and were starting to twitch feebly. It didn't help that he had been up till past midnight last night going over Gryffindor's strategy for the match. Understandably, he was ready to fall asleep on his feet by now. 

He sat in his usual chair in the Gryffindor common room after dinner. His schoolbooks, Quidditch books, parchment, quill and ink were scattered on the table in front of him. But his eyes were trained on the fireplace, and he was completely oblivious to the fact that half of Gryffindor was studying, talking and laughing all around him. He didn't even spare half a glance at Harry and Ginny, who were whispering to each other and giggling, and probably holding hands, on the sofa in front of the fire. Aside from fatigue, he was feeling... he didn't know what, really. Perhaps a little discontented and a bit angry. Or was it that he was just... missing Hermione? But how could he miss her already when he was just sitting beside her in the Great Hall at dinner, popping pieces of her daintily cut-up steak into his mouth, and making her laugh at him and slap his hand away from her food at the same time? 

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were just finishing dessert when an eagle owl swooped into the Hall and dropped a letter on her plate, which caused her to jump up and go to her room, barely excusing herself. He recognized the owl -- it belonged to Viktor Krum. Viktor bloody Krum, who was the most popular Quidditch player in Europe. Viktor sodding Krum, who wrote to Hermione at least once every two weeks despite his busy schedule. Viktor buggering Krum, whom she _insisted_ was just her friend. Ha. He noticed Hermione would drop whatever she was doing and would shut herself in her room whenever his letters came. Sometimes he noticed her looking vaguely happy after having read one of those damn letters. Other times she looked vaguely weepy. Each time he felt vaguely sick to his stomach. 

Or maybe, he was just... but he couldn't be, could he? Nope. Not a chance. But then again, he was so familiar with the symptoms -- the reflexive clenching of his fists, the throbbing veins in his temples, the feverish feeling he knew was turning his ears red and his face slightly green. He was jealous. If he would only admit it to himself, he would see that he'd been jealous since fifth year of every boy that Hermione paid the slightest attention to. In fact, if he hadn't been denying his feelings, he would realize that jealousy had already formed part of his basic instincts, much like hunger, thirst and the need to sleep. 

Or maybe, he was too preoccupied with one question, keeping him from focusing on anything else: who in hell asked that duck-footed git Krum to finish his seventh year at Hogwarts? That was the reason he became all cozy and close with Hermione. That was also the reason they had been writing to each other for almost three years now. They had the perfect excuse: they had been schoolmates. Ruddy, bloody, son of a... hellhound. Why couldn't that git have gone to Beauxbatons instead? It was also a good school, and there were veela there. Well, not full-blooded veela, but still... even half- or quarter-veela were stunningly beautiful, right? They should be good enough for the likes of Krum. 

'Why does that duck-footed git keep elbowing in on _my_ territory? First, he makes my fifth year a living nightmare, and now he... he...' Ron spluttered furiously. 'Just what the hell does he want to do? Does he really want to try...' What? Try... stealing Hermione from him? Wait. That would assume she was _his_ to begin with. But she wasn't, was she? Would she want to be his? Would he want her to belong to him? Why was he thinking of her as if she was a piece of property? Why was he even thinking of her at all? 

"Argh!" he cried out in frustration. Several heads turned to look at him. 

"Anything wrong?" someone (Ron didn't recognize the voice), a seventh year, probably Dean Thomas, called out. 

Ron suddenly snapped out of his stupor. "No, no, nothing's wrong. Just worried about the Quidditch final tomorrow, is all," he answered in the general direction of the person who asked him. 

"We'll win it, don't worry, Ron," someone else called out. 

"Thanks," he muttered. He settled back in his chair and thought, 'that's it, I'm slowly going insane.' 

He probably started going insane during the last week of summer vacation before their fifth year. Hermione had come the day after Harry arrived at the Burrow, and all three of them (to his mind, at least) were set to have some fun before term started. It had started out as a typical morning for him, that is, until his mum had cornered him and sent him out to degnome the garden. Harry had helped him, but it was quite a job. He had been hurling gnomes over the fence for nearly two hours, and he was feeling as hot as if a dragon had snorted fire on him. He had taken off his shirt and let the breeze cool him for a bit. Suddenly, Ginny came running out of the house and into the garden. 

_"She's here!" Ginny had called out._

_"Who?" He had answered -- stupidly, it seemed, because Harry and Ginny started to snicker._

_"The Queen, Ron. What do you mean, 'who?' Hermione, of course!" Harry said._

_"But, isn't she a bit early? I thought she'd be arriving by lunch."_

_"Obviously, she's changed her mind. She can do that, you know. Probably missed you something awful." _

He remembered thinking that even back then, he caught an insinuating tone in Ginny's voice that didn't quite sit well with him. But he had dismissed it by convincing himself Hermione missed him _and_ Harry. Of course that was what Ginny meant, wasn't it? Before he could answer that question, he had been yanked back to reality when-- 

_"Don't just stand there! Come on!" Harry had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside the house, not even giving him time to pick up his discarded shirt. _

At the time, he thought, _'oh well, it doesn't matter. It's just Hermione, right?'_ But since then, he had learnt a painful lesson: he no idea how wrong he was.When he saw her standing there, having just come out of the fireplace after her journey via Floo powder, two hours earlier than expected, and wearing a... sundress, was what Harry called it, his eyes nearly fell off their sockets. 

For several moments, his fifteen-year-old brain lost the ability to think. What in hell did she do to her skin to make it all... tanned and... and..._ luscious_ like that? What did she think she was doing, wearing that skimpy, nearly transparent piece of cloth that made her tanned skin glow like burnished copper? And what business was it of hers to hug _everyone_ in sight while wearing that dress, even Fred and George? Everyone, that is, except him. All right, granted that he was sweaty and shirtless at the time, but still, he expected a warmer greeting than _"hi, Ron."_ It was unfair! Harry was just as sweaty and had a huge splatter of dirt on the front of his shirt. Yet she gave Harry a hug. But for him, not even a handshake. He could have sworn he'd wiped off his hands on his jeans. He didn't have any earthworms under his fingernails or anything repulsive like that. Yet, she treated him as if, well, he wasn't that important, or... worse, it didn't really matter whether he existed or not. She had even laughed and joked with the twins, who were leering at her like the horndogs that they were. But if he even tried to act the way the twins did towards her, she would have hexed him to kingdom come without a second thought. Right. He could barely stop himself from throwing a tantrum like a testy toddler. Sweaty Harry was still worth hugging, leering Fred and George were still funny, Ginny was a girl and so could do no wrong, his mum was "Aunt Molly," and he was... nothing. She'd acted that way all the time she was at the Burrow that summer, nearly four years ago. He'd thought he would explode with frustration. 

He still felt frustrated the week after that, when they were aboard the Hogwarts Express on the way back to school. Every time he had looked at her, she had looked away. She looked out the window, at Harry, at the door, up at the luggage compartment, everywhere else except at him. But every time _he_ looked away, he felt her eyes on him, burning holes into his skin. At the time, he concluded it must be some plan she had thought up to drive him mad. It took the familiar atmosphere of Hogwarts to bring everything back to normal between them -- normal being the constant bickering and teasing and occasional blow-ups, followed by the usual unspoken agreements to forget what was said and done during the heat of the moment. Almost four years had gone by, and still they were no closer to ending this -- this -- game. Or was it... a mating ritual? 

"ARGH!" he cried out again, in a louder, more frustrated voice. 

"Now, what's wrong?" another seventh year, probably Seamus Finnigan (Ron thought that all the voices he heard sounded the same), called out. 

"Nothing, nothing. I was just worried that the Hawkshead Formation would put Ginny in a very dangerous position opposite Zabini," he answered. 

"Don't worry about me, Ron. You know Colin, Dennis and I will improvise a bit once we're up there. Besides, Zabini's a coward. Won't act without backup, that one. You've seen it too many times before, right?" Ginny answered reassuringly. 

"I guess. Thanks, Gin." 

"You know, all this worrying is wearing you out. Why don't you go up and get some rest?" 

"I can't. I'm on patrol duty tonight with Hermione. I'm just waiting for her to come down." 

"I'll take your place tonight, Ron. Ginny's right, you could use a bit of rest," Harry said. 

"'S all right, mate. I'll do it. You know how Hermione gets when anybody messes up her duty roster." 

"Are you sure you're up to it?" 

"Yeah, yeah. Now you two stop acting like mum and go back to whatever it is you're doing. Except if it's snogging. Or talking about shagging. Or even thinking about shagging. You hear me?" 

"Yes, dad," Harry and Ginny answered in mock-solemn voices. 

"Shut it, you two," Ron growled. He leaned back in his chair. 

His thoughts went back to the day of Hermione's arrival at the Burrow, that summer before the start of their fifth year. She and Ginny had sat on a blanket in the backyard to watch him, Harry and the twins as they played a makeshift game of Quidditch to while away the time before dinner. But since there were only four of them, Fred and Harry played Chasers, while he and George were the Keepers. Hermione jumped and squealed whenever Fred had scored against him as he kept his and Harry's goal. The way her body moved as she jumped up and down had been enough to distract him to the point where Fred had scored five times in a row, earning him a cuff upside the head from Harry when the game ended with their massacre at the twins' hands. 

As he remembered what had happened that night, he wondered how he had kept himself from going insane and having to be hauled off to St. Mungo's. Hermione had worn that damned sundress all day, even to dinner. She sat across from him at the table, and he could barely put food into his mouth, as he was watching her talk and laugh with his family while still continuing to ignore him. He noticed that she barely ate as well, but was too fascinated by the gracefulness of her movements to bring the matter up. His fifteen-year-old, hormone-charged body was burning -- for Hermione. As soon as he decently could, he excused himself to take a very long, very cold shower. The next day, with thoughts of her in that bloody sundress still haunting him, he exercised to near-exhaustion, then took another long, cold shower. Those activities quickly became his daily routine in a desperate attempt to control his body's reaction to her. Fat lot of good it did him. Four years later, his nineteen-year-old, hormone-charged body was still burning -- for the same girl. 

ARGH!! This time, he remembered to clamp his hands over his mouth to prevent any sound from coming out. Right. It was official. He HAD gone insane, and the reason for his insanity was his best friend Hermione. How the bloody hell can that be?! It was simply wrong, not to mention, er, _pervy_. He could still recall the feeling of being tingly all over whenever he thought of her tanned complexion. It suited her. There was a coppery hue to her skin then that made her hair shine as though it had golden highlights, and made her eyes sparkle as though they were pools of liquid chocolate with flecks of amber. At the time, he had thought of what it would be like to trail kisses along that coppery skin and make those chocolate-amber eyes close... and tonight he thought of it again. He almost slapped his forehead for thinking highly improper thoughts about his best friend. Thoughts such as bending her over the back of the common room sofa and snogging her senseless... 

'NO, NO, NO!' one part of his brain screamed at him. 

'YES, OH GOD, YES, HERMIONE!' his, er, horndoggy part of the brain, answered. 

He shook his head rather violently in an effort to silence the screaming voices. He had to think. Was it all just -- just -- animal lust on his part? Or was there something more? Well, of course, there was a lot more to it than that. He had been deliriously happy that Hermione hadn't gone to Bulgaria to visit that duck-footed git. He had overheard her admit to "Aunt Molly" that she'd spent a great deal of time outdoors that summer, although she and her parents didn't go on a vacation trip at all. Why, the sly little witch was a bloody clever actress! She merely smiled like a Sphinx every time he asked her whether she accepted dear old Vicky's invitation. And to think his brain had been in serious danger of combusting in a mixture of anxiety and exasperation. He wanted so badly to strangle her. Instead, he almost whooped for joy right there by the kitchen door, but was able to stop himself just in time -- after all, he was eavesdropping, and it wouldn't do for him to get caught. 

But it wasn't just that. He'd also been thoroughly sympathetic with her fears about any possible attempt by Voldemort (yes, Voldemort! He had learnt to say the damn name at last!) against Harry. She'd started him thinking about keeping not just Harry safe, but also her and Ginny as well. He never told anyone, but that summer, he swore to himself to do everything he could to protect them from that point onwards. He fully intended to do well in Defense Against the Dark Arts so he could do whatever it would take to keep them out of harm's way. In fact, he dug up all the Dark Arts schoolbooks he could find around the house, even the ones by that fraud Lockhart, in the hope that he could pick up something, anything, useful there. He even went as far as nicking all two of Percy's books on the subject (he left behind all the other books spouting bollocks about how wizards can go about gaining power and influence and changing the course of history). Since Hermione ignored him, he was able to sit quietly under a tree and read for an hour or two each day. Sometimes, he would fall asleep while reading, but that didn't happen more than... all right, all right, four out of every five times. But still, he had learnt a few things that eventually helped him get top marks on his Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s. 

Aside from that, he'd been mature enough to refrain from teasing her when they found out she'd been made Prefect. But then again, that may have had more to do with the fact that he and Harry had also been made Prefects, much to Harry's surprise, and his disgust. It was only his mum's obvious pride in him that restrained him from beating up the twins for calling out "here comes _another_ pinhead" every time he passed by. He finally stopped being annoyed about the whole thing when he found out Dumbledore had hand-picked all the students who had been made Prefect that year, and that it was part of Hogwarts' response to the return of Voldemort, in an effort to maintain safety and order in the school. But what gave him complete and utter satisfaction over the whole thing was the fact that Draco Malfoy was _not_ made Prefect. 

He stopped reminiscing for a moment and glanced at his watch. Two hours to go before they had to face each other for their patrol duty tonight. He couldn't help but look back at all the other times they spent together that had contributed to his present state of insanity. 


	2. Chapter 2 Hermione's Pretty

**CHAPTER 2 - HERMIONE'S PRETTY**  
  
  


It was just a typical day for Hermione Granger -- as typical as things can be for the Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In Transfiguration, McGonagall had praised her for her substantial progress in learning the concepts of human transformation, and had expressed confidence that she might one day successfully become an Animagus. In Potions, her Banishing solution for the removal of superfluous appendages (such as rabbit's ears and tentacles) brought on by multiple hexes was the most potent and effective. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, she almost won against Ron, who was the best student in that subject since fifth year, when they were partnered in a simulated wizard's duel with a Death Eater (she being the "Death Eater"). And in Arithmancy, her equations had just proven that a cure for lycantrophy CAN be developed. It was only at dinnertime that her typical day began to fall apart. 

As usual, it was Ron who had saved her a seat at the Gryffindor table. So she had to sit beside him, making her entire body tremble with his nearness. To distract herself, she started cutting up her steak into bite-size pieces. It only made matters worse. He leaned over and started eating the steak she had spent so much time, er, mutilating. She slapped his hand away from her food, causing her hand to come in contact with his skin. Big mistake. Needing another distraction, she reached out for a drink, and ended up taking his goblet of pumpkin juice, on which he had just cast a cooling charm when none of the professors was looking. He took the goblet back from her and drank from it, his lips touching the rim at the exact spot hers had touched. She almost groaned aloud, thinking of what would happen if their lips had touched instead. 

Then he started teasing her for staring at him. Great. That was about the hundredth time that week he caught her doing that, and now he was laughing at her for it. So she pretended to laugh back at him for being an arrogant prat, but then, she just couldn't help reaching out to rub off a nearly invisible spot of dirt from his cheek. He teased her again, this time for fussing over him like his mum did, only she was too pretty to be thought of as a fussy mum just yet. Her brain froze. Did he just call her pretty? She looked into his eyes, and knew that he meant it, along with so many other things she couldn't read. 

She was just starting to make him explain himself when Sally-Anne Perks sat down beside him and asked him to go with her next Hogsmeade weekend while giggling in a very irritating way. Ron turned to Sally-Anne (whom she called "giggle-head") and gave her what Hermione thought was his best smile. He expressed his regret at not being able to take up giggle-head on her offer, as he was on security duty along with Hermione, Harry, Ginny and the other prefects. The giggle-head then turned to her and gave her what she recognized as a condescending look, which seemed to say that Ron was forced to spend time with a bossy, know-it-all witch like her only because of his duties as Head Boy. Afterwards, Sally-Anne turned back to Ron, saying that she would love it if he'd let her buy him a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks when he was finished with his security duty. Ron good-naturedly replied that they would all probably be required to return to Hogwarts by then, and that they would have to wait and see how the day went before making any definite plans. 

During this exchange, Hermione's hand unconsciously tightened around her wand, and she was five seconds away from hexing the giggle-head, when Viktor's eagle owl came flying into the Hall with a letter for her. She was extremely relieved to have an excuse to get up and walk away from Ron, even at the cost of feeling his eyes drilling holes into her back. 'What a prat! He makes me want to hex the girls he smiles at, but he still expects me to feel guilty for wanting to read Viktor's letter,' she thought bitterly. 

She went up to her room and opened her window so Viktor's owl could come in and wait for her reply. Sighs and tears escaped her as she read the letter.  
  
  


Dear Hermione, 

Katrina has agreed to marry me! We will be married on the first of June, on her birthday. I don't want to wait any longer-- even the few weeks between now and our wedding day seem endless to me. I asked her yesterday, after reading your last letter for the tenth time. You were right, sometimes simply being honest is the best way to say what is in your heart. I hope you would take your own advice when it comes to dealing with a certain red-haired Quidditch Captain and now Head Boy. 

Now that I am getting married, I think it would be all right to confess something to you. You were my first love. I almost admitted it to you that day by the lake, after the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. I told you I had never met anyone like you before. I wanted to tell you right then that I loved you. But I didn't say the words, because I saw the look on your face when Fleur Delacour kissed Ron. That's when I knew I never had a chance. 

Still, I went back to Hogwarts to finish my seventh year there, and to fight for you. But your eyes were on him always. I could have fallen off my broom from a hundred feet up in the air, and it wouldn't matter as much to you than if a Bludger had _almost_ hit him. But when you told me of all the things you shared with him, I understood. He saved you from a mountain troll, sacrificed himself for you in a chess match, threw up slugs for you... I never did. And I never will, now. 

I can't bear to know that you are unhappy. I've asked your permission so many times to write to Ron and tell him the truth, but you would never agree. It would have made things so much easier. But you always said it was better for him to recognize his feelings in his own time. You are so patient with him. Will you never get tired of waiting for him? He _must_ wake up one day and realize how lucky he is to have you in his life. 

I hope I have not upset you with what I have written. I am overflowing with happiness, and I just want you to be as happy as I am. If it takes strong words to make you reach out for your happiness, then I have done my part as your friend. 

Think about what I am going to say to you now -- perhaps it will help you decide what to do. You are near the end of your seventh year, and still you are no closer to Ron than you were in your first year. Will you just part ways with him and leave him unaware of your love? I have already said this to you countless times, and I will say it yet again: from what I have seen of him and from what you have told me, I am certain he loves you deeply. But something holds him back from telling you this. You have tried to find out what that is. Perhaps it is as you have guessed: he feels unworthy of you. If that is so, then you must let him know that it is not true. You would probably think you don't know how to tell him that. If you cannot say it, then you must show him. Do not let the lack of words stop you from letting him know how you feel. It will not be too late if you act now. 

I hope that in your next letter you will tell me you have followed my advice, as well as your own to me. Wish me joy, my dear Hermione, as I wish for you Ron Weasley's love and a life filled with happiness. 

Always,  
Viktor  
  
  


She looked out of her window, which commanded a view of the lake and a portion of the Quidditch field in the distance. She took a deep breath, sat down at her desk and started to write her reply.  
  
  


Dear Viktor, 

I'm so happy for you! I know Katrina will give you everything you'll ever need. You two were made for each other. I felt it in the way you wrote about her. I wish I could be there to watch you exchange vows. You'll send me some photographs, won't you? I was looking at the ones you sent me before, and I must say, she is very beautiful. And the look in her eyes -- she loves you so much. But what I like best is the way you look at her -- she is your angel, isn't she? I'm glad you found her. 

Oh, Viktor, I don't know what to say about your... confession. Please know that I never meant to hurt you. I didn't know the depth of your feelings then. But even if I did, we both know I couldn't love you in the same way. We met three years too late. Maybe if I had met you before I knew Ron... but this isn't the time to dwell on what might have been. 

As for the rest of your letter: you're right. I should do something about it. I've never been one to just sit by and let things happen. It's just that... I don't want to lose him. If I told him how much I loved him, and things don't work out between us, I could lose his friendship, too. And if I did, my life would never be the same. It would be flat, dull and cheerless. For years, I have tried to figure out what to do. I've even used Arithmancy to help me solve this problem, but all that comes out is an endless string of numbers that doesn't mean anything. 

He told me just before your letter came that I was pretty. I looked at him and I knew he meant it. I also knew he meant so much more than what he was telling me, and I was trying to make him tell me more, but then a girl from our year came up to him and started flirting with him. I would have done something stupid if your letter hadn't come right then. I knew he was jealous when I stood up and left him so I can read your letter, but I didn't care. I was jealous first. He stops to talk with the girls who flirt with him. He talks to them calmly and civilly, while he shouts at me and calls me barking mad or a know-it-all. Sometimes I just want to hex him so he'll have warts on his nose, and then no girl would want him... no girl except me. But then, I remember -- he talks civilly with other girls, but never goes out with them. He shouts at me, but he holds me in his arms. 

Maybe I _will_ follow your advice. I will let you know soon. I wish you all the joy your heart can hold, now and always. 

Love from,  
Hermione  
  
  


She gave her reply to Viktor's owl and watched as it flew off. Viktor's letter hit her hard. She felt the truth of every word he had written about her. She also knew she would be losing a confidante. She couldn't intrude into his and Katrina's happiness by continuing to confide in him her heartache over Ron. That had been the reason why they had been steadily writing to each other for nearly three years. She just couldn't tell Harry or Ginny all the things she felt about Ron -- she felt too uncomfortable exposing her deepest feelings to people who knew them both well. Viktor had been helpful and sympathetic to her, and in turn, she encouraged him to write about his troubles to her. Over the years, they had forged a strong friendship. But it was only now that she realized the price he had to pay to be able to have that friendship. 

It was unfair that Ron continued to be jealous of Viktor. And yet, what could she do about it, short of letting Ron read Viktor's letters? She had tried every way she knew to convince Ron that Viktor was just her friend, but to no avail. She should have been flattered, even happy, that Ron felt something for her, enough to make him hostile to any man who was close to her. But his jealousy gave her no satisfaction, mainly because of his silence and inaction, which in turn fed her doubt. Since Ron never said anything about caring for her more than as a friend, even in his worst bouts of jealousy, she questioned whether he really did feel anything for her other than friendship. She would have been overjoyed even if he did something stupid, anything at all, she wouldn't be so (as he said) fussy about it -- as long as he showed her he loved her. But what she got did not satisfy her. In fact his behaviour, annoyingly quarrelsome one minute and distractingly sweet the next, fueled her doubt even more. There were days when she was positive he loved her. But there were nights when she would just start to cry because she was sure he could never love her. So she continued writing to Viktor, and Viktor promptly replied, which fueled the vicious cycle. 

She had to admit, her relationship with Ron became more complicated starting from the summer before their fifth year, probably due to what she had done. She remembered confiding to her mum that she was confused about what was going on between her and Ron. Her mum had listened carefully to her, making sympathetic noises about the argument Harry and Ron had had over Harry's becoming a champion at the Triwizard Tournament, and how she had to act as their go-between for what seemed like an eternity. Her mum had even smiled and nodded wisely over the fiasco about who went with whom to the Yule Ball, and the argument she and Ron had had afterwards. But then, her mum had stunned her by asking, _"what do you think it means, dear?"_ How in the world was she supposed to know what it meant? Oh, who was she kidding? She knew exactly what it meant, on her part at least, but was too scared to admit it to her mum. But then again, she was never one to jump to rash conclusions (like Ron did) about anything. So she decided the best way to handle things was to, well, conduct a certain experiment. If the results tallied with what she was anticipating, then she'd know for sure, right? Oh, well. Whoever said those words about the best-laid plans of mice and men going awry (or straight to hell, she would have to look up the exact wording later) was a genius, after all. 

She also remembered, with a blush, how she would go sunbathing in their backyard everyday after that fateful talk with her mum, just to give him the impression that she'd gone on a wonderful European vacation, when all the while her parents had preferred to stay at home and spend as much time as they could together. It was part of her plan then to smile mysteriously every time he asked whether she'd gone to Bulgaria, to torture him out of his mind. Then she and her mum had bought that gorgeous sundress so she could display her new tan when she went to the Burrow. She had even planned on arriving earlier than the time she was expected, just to catch him unprepared and laugh at him as he stared and stuttered. What she did not anticipate was that he had been degnoming the garden all morning, and was shirtless and thoroughly sweaty by the time she arrived. She took one look at him, standing there all dirty and flushed and disheveled, displaying skin and, er, body parts, she had never seen before, and promptly forgot to breathe. She knew that if she even attempted to hug him or say anything more than _"hi, Ron"_ to him, she would make a fool of herself. So she tried to cover up the awkwardness she felt by ignoring him all day. But then, her eyes betrayed her. They would wander over to him when she was sure he wasn't looking at her. She couldn't help it, really. He looked so cute, all bewildered and frustrated and mystified by the change in her behaviour. He seemed to be on the verge of exploding whenever she spoke to him as if he was merely a casual acquaintance, instead of the best friend at whose invitation she was staying at the Burrow. She decided that she thoroughly enjoyed the sight of Ron squirming and seething because of her, so she acted that way with him for the rest of the summer until they arrived at Hogwarts again. 

But there was one time during that summer when she lost her head. She noticed that whenever he got fed up with the way she treated him, he would go off with his schoolbooks, sit under the trees in the backyard, read for a while, and then fall asleep. Aunt Molly, missing him at dinnertime one evening, had asked her to look for him. She found him, not under the tree where he usually sat and read, but in the deep shade of the farthest tree from the house, hidden from view by the bushes. A sixth-year schoolbook in Defense Against the Dark Arts lay open beside his sleeping form. Curled up beside him, and also asleep, was Crookshanks. Even in the twilight, she saw how Ron slept so peacefully and looked so... so... _adorable_ with his long, auburn eyelashes that seemed to flutter lightly with the breeze and his hair all tousled, just begging to be touched. Before she could stop herself, she had reached out and smoothed his hair back into place. She was shocked at how soft and velvety his hair felt under her fingers. She remembered thinking how content she would have been just sitting there under the stars all night, and stroking his hair until the sun came up. But then Crookshanks woke up and started to purr loudly, making him stir and finally wake up. So she had no choice but to tell him dinner was ready and walk back inside the house, barely speaking two words to him. 

She sighed and looked at her watch. She had two hours before she was forced to go back down and face him to go on their nightly inspection. Time enough for her to look back and discover where she had gone wrong, and how events had brought her to this point in her relationship (or lack thereof) with Ron. 


	3. Chapter 3 He's a Gambler!

**CHAPTER THREE - HE'S A... GAMBLER?!**   
  
  
  
**A/N:** I see some of you have asked about the "age issue" regarding our heroes in this fic. Please be patient, the answer will be revealed in time. But if you simply must know NOW, read Chapters 1 and 2 of "Two Sides to the Story" to get some hints. Oh, and while you're there, kindly leave a review, would you? 

One of my lovely readers alerted me to a problem some of you may have encountered in this chapter. So I went back to the drawing board and tried my best to untangle that snag. Just to make it clear, this chapter and the succeeding ones will be a series of flashbacks starting from fifth year (or how their fifth year would be in Book 5 if I was JKR -- but since I'm not, welcome to my fantasy world). Okay, back to the story!  
  
  
  
  


The Gryffindor common room buzzed with the usual Friday night after-dinner activities: Exploding Snap cards blowing up in the players' faces, the sounds of battle from opposing sides in wizard's chess, and the laughter and chatter of students pretending to finish their homework but were obviously gossiping and flirting with each other instead. But Ron heard none of it. He was too busy thinking about the past. His thoughts flew back to the events that took place during his fifth year at Hogwarts. It was only now, when he replayed them in his mind, did he realize it was during that year when things started changing between him and Hermione. 

The start of their fifth year had been, to Ron's mind, an unmitigated disaster. The start-of-term banquet had been totally ruined for him from the moment they had sat down at the Gryffindor table. The doors of the Great Hall had just swung open to admit the first years who were about to be Sorted. He remembered that he had noticed someone at the very end of the line who looked much too tall and much too old to be a first year. And then, his jaw had dropped when he recognized who it was. 'OH, HELL, NO!' his brain bellowed. 

"Wh-what the bloody hell is that duck-footed git doing here?!" he hissed. 

Hermione looked at him as though he was a slimy slug crawling on the floor. "Viktor is here to finish his seventh year, so he's going to be Sorted, too. And don't curse." 

"How could he still be a seventh year? He's too old -- he's what, twenty?" 

"He was in sixth year when he came here for the Triwizard Tournament. He had to stop going to school for quite a while before that because of Quidditch training. And no, he's not twenty yet, he's nineteen." 

"Hang on, you _knew_ he was coming here?!" 

"Of course I did, he wrote to me about it." 

"And you didn't tell anyone?!" 

"I told Harry and Ginny." 

He turned to Harry and Ginny, who sat across the table from him. "Did she tell you about Krum coming here?!" 

"Yeah," Ginny replied calmly. 

"Well, why didn't you tell me?!" he demanded. 

"I thought Harry would tell you," Ginny answered. She turned to Harry. "I thought _you_ would tell him. That's what we all agreed on, isn't it?" 

Harry looked as though he'd been caught kissing McGonagall. "W-well, I -- I..." 

Just then, Fred and George swooped down on them. "Well, well, well,... Do I sense a bit of trouble in paradise here?" Fred cooed. 

"Or perhaps a little basilisk named jealousy?" George counter-cooed. Harry could be heard in the background, loudly sighing with relief. 

"Sod off!" Ron snapped. 

"Tut, tut, language! And you a Prefect!" 

"Whatever will the ickle firsties say when they find out you're a gutter-mouth?" 

"Shut it, you two! I can take away points and give detentions now, so leave me alone if you know what's good for you!" 

"Oh, the ingratitude! I'm simply heartbroken, Gred." 

"How do you think I feel, Forge? I dandled him on my knee when he was just a wee lad!" 

"Will you be quiet?!" 

"All right, all right, pinhead, don't snap the elastic on your boxers! Let's get down to serious matters for a minute, shall we? Any thoughts regarding which House your erstwhile hero will be placed?" Fred asked as he clapped Ron's shoulder. 

"Stop calling me pinhead! And there's only one place for that duck-footed git -- Slytherin," he spat. 

"NO, he _won't_ be placed in Slytherin! Just because he sat at the Slytherin table last year doesn't mean he belongs there. Karkaroff probably made his students sit there. You don't know him. How can you even judge him like that? For all we know, the Sorting Hat might place him in Gryffindor," Hermione huffed. 

"Not a chance!" he snarled. 

"Care to make a wager on that?" George intervened. 

"What do you mean, a wager? Is money going to be involved? That's gambling! You could get expelled for that!" Hermione's voice was starting to carry across the table. 

"Shh! That's not the kind of wager we mean, Miss Prefect," Fred soothed her. "What we meant was: if George and I bet against the two of you that dear old Vicky gets sorted into Hufflepuff, and we lose--" 

"Which we won't," George cut in. 

"--we'll be the winner's slaves for a week. But if we win, the two of you have to--" 

"Kiss each other in front of the whole school!" George finished triumphantly. 

At the time, Ron thought he was as appalled with the consequence of kissing Hermione (should he be proven wrong, which of course he wouldn't be) as though George had dared him to kiss an acromantula. But in spite of that, perhaps it was the prospect of winning over the twins and paying them back tenfold for all their pranks that had spurred him on. It was only now that he realized what he must have felt at the time was similar to what he would have felt like if Christmas had come early. That was the only explanation for him to have said and done... "You're ON!" He shook the twins' hands. 

"I'm not taking your bet!" Hermione exclaimed, looking flushed and horrified. 

"What's the matter, 'Mione? Scared you'll lose?" he taunted. 

"No, I'm not! And don't call me 'Mione!" 

"Since you won't take the bet, I can call you whatever I want... 'Mione!" 

"You're acting like a six-year-old! And stop calling me 'Mione!" 

"Why don't you just admit you're scared 'cause you made a losing bet, and that you're wrong about your precious little Vicky... 'Mione?" 

"I'm not scared, I did NOT make a losing bet, and I'm not wrong about Viktor! And for the last time--" 

"Stop calling her 'Mione!" Fred, George, Harry and Ginny chorused. 

Ron rounded on Harry and Ginny, who were giggling madly. "Since you two insist on being all cute and funny, why don't you join our little wager? When you lose, you get to kiss each other in front of the whole school. How 'bout it?" They stopped laughing at once. 

"I thought so," he said smugly. He turned back to Hermione, whose eyes were shooting off sparks by then. "So, _'Mione_, are you--" 

"You're ON," she snapped, her cheeks still retaining their rosy shade. "He's going to be a Gryffindor, you CANNOT call me 'Mione ever again, and the three of you will be my slaves for TWO WEEKS!" 

"WHAT?!" Ron took one look at his brothers, and knew that all three of them felt extremely horrified. 

"Take it or leave it!" Hermione screeched. 

"If that duck-footed git becomes a Slytherin, the three of you'll be MY slaves for three weeks AND I get to call you 'Mione for the rest of my life!" he growled. 

Fred countered, "if Krum becomes a Hufflepuff, Ron can call you whatever he wants, but the two of you would still have to kiss in front of the whole school--" 

"AND you two will have to go together to the next ball!" George added. 

"WHAT?!" he and Hermione spluttered. 

"Take it or leave it!" The twins intoned in funereal voices. 

He and Hermione looked at each other, then held out their hands to the twins. "You're on," they chorused. 

"SHHH!" several students called out to them. It was only then that they noticed the Sorting Hat had finished its song, and all the first years had already been sorted. Only Krum was left standing before the staff table. 

Ron thought that Dumbledore seemed to have been looking at them and listening to everything that had transpired at their part of the Gryffindor table while the Sorting was going on. But he couldn't have, could he? But then, why did the Headmaster seem to be giving him a very pointed look, and, he could have sworn, winking at him, before standing up to address the students? He blinked, and it seemed as though Dumbledore was as serious as he usually was, or at least tried to be, at the start of every term. 

He tried to make it appear that he was listening to every word the Headmaster was saying, for the sake of the first years who were sitting near him, of course. After all, he WAS a Prefect. "One of our guests during last year's Triwizard Tournament has decided to return to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year here. May I ask Mister Viktor Krum to come forward and be Sorted, and afterwards, let us all give him a warm welcome." 

Krum walked over to the four-legged stool and sat down. McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head. After two seconds, the hat called out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" 

Ron's jaw dropped again. Hermione looked as though she was going to faint. The twins grinned evilly. The feast had materialised on the table, but neither he nor Hermione could eat more than two bites. Right. Fifth year had just become the longest year of their lives. 

As soon as the banquet was over, he stood up to take charge of the first years. After all, he WAS a Prefect. Besides, he had to do something, anything, to get his mind off his ill-fated foray into betting against the twins. "All right, first years this way!" he called out. The first-years formed a line and followed him as he walked out of the Great Hall. He saw Harry and Hermione staring after him, open-mouthed. 'What's wrong with them? You'd think they never saw a Prefect before,' he thought. Oh, right. They've never seen _him_ act like a Prefect before. Well, they would just have to get used to it. 

He enjoyed leading the first-years up to Gryffindor tower while commenting on moving staircases, trick-steps, portraits, Peeves and Mrs. Norris. It was hard for him to imagine himself being as young as these children were once. The first-years were eager, wide-eyed, and fun to talk to. They were bursting with questions which made him laugh as they climbed staircase after staircase and walked along the corridors. They, in turn, seemed to warm up to his laughter and his humour. He started thinking, maybe this whole year won't be that big of a disaster after all. 

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to Gryffindor tower. The first-years looked in awe at her, who in turn looked shocked at seeing him ushering the new students. 

"Goodness, dearie, so it's true! You're a Prefect!" she exclaimed. 

"Yeah, says so right here on the badge," he answered, showing her the Prefect badge pinned to the front of his robes. At least, he hoped it still said "Prefect" and not "Pinhead," the way Percy's did when the twins enchanted it years ago. 

"Will wonders never cease? I remember when you used to come in and out of the tower at all hours of the night, and engage in all sorts of--" 

"Shush! Not in front of the first-years! You can recall your fond memories of me later!" he hissed. 

"All right, all right, no need to be testy! Password?" 

"Wronski Feint," he sniggered, hoping that Hermione would have trouble saying it when she came up. 

He led the first-years inside and pointed out their dormitories. He thought they would want to go to bed early, but most of them chose to stay in the common room and ask him about life at Hogwarts. He gamely sat down on the sofa, and started telling them about his experiences (at least, those that didn't involve rule-breaking, Harry's invisibility cloak, or Voldemort). Soon, he had a captive audience. He didn't notice Harry and Hermione come in with the rest of the students until he saw them standing to one side, looking at him with the same dumbfounded, open-mouthed expression they gave him earlier. He ended his story, shooed the first-years off to bed, and went up to them. 

"Y-you told all those stories without... without..." Hermione spluttered. 

"Lying my head off?" he finished. Hermione could only nod dumbly in reply. 

"Who are you and what have you done to Ron?" Harry asked. 

"Ha, ha, very funny. You'll just have to get used to the new me, mate," he answered. 

"Will we like the new you?" Hermione asked. 

He turned to face her. "That depends. Did you like what you saw earlier?" 

She looked into his eyes. "That depends. Will you keep on acting that way?" 

"That depends on whether you want me to keep on acting that way." 

"Maybe that would depend on another wager." Harry countered. 

"Not another wager!" Hermione moaned. 

"Shush, 'Mione. And what wager would that be, Harry?" 

"Ron!" 

"C'mon, 'Mione, it's just a little bet with Harry. What's the harm in that? After all, we bet against Fred and George." 

"And lost, if I may be so bold as to remind you." 

"How can I forget?" He looked into her eyes. Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away. 

"Er, if we could get back to the wager," Harry said. "I'm betting the 'new Ron' won't last two weeks. If I win, you have to do my Divination homework all year." 

"Harry!" Hermione huffed. 

Harry ignored her. "But if you win--" 

"You have to keep me supplied with sweets all year." 

"Ron!" 

"How 'bout you, 'Mione? Are you in or out of this wager?" 

"I -- I --" 

"Well?" 

"We're NOT supposed to be making wagers with each other! We're Prefects!" 

"I know, it says so right here on our badges. So, are you taking the bet or aren't you?" 

"_I_ don't have Divination, so I don't see what you can do for me if you lose the bet!" she snapped. 

"You can make me do whatever you want, 'Mione," he retorted silkily. That made her blush again. 'Blimey! What is it with Hermione and blushing tonight?' he thought. 

"I'm not taking the bet," she said at last. 

"Fine, you can be the judge. You're impartial, you can make sure we stick to the bet and all that. I'll give you lots of sugar quills when I win against our deluded green-eyed friend here." 

"Hey! No fair! You can't bribe the judge!" 

"You're just jealous 'cause you didn't think of bribing the judge before I did." 

Harry laughed. "You're right about that. Well then, we'll just have to see 'new Ron' in action tomorrow." Harry bade them goodnight and went upstairs. 

He watched Harry go upstairs, then turned back to Hermione. He caught her looking at him with a strange expression on her face. "There's still time to change your mind about the wager," he said, locking his eyes on hers for a moment. 

"No, I don't think I'll take it, thanks," she answered. She looked at her shoes for a moment before saying, "I guess I'll turn in now. Big day tomorrow." 

"Yeah. Well, goodnight, 'Mione." 

"Goodnight, Ron." She turned around and went upstairs, looking as though she was trying to walk as fast as she could without running. 

The next day, he was up before Harry and Hermione. He gathered all the first-years together and brought them to the Great Hall for breakfast, making them laugh by telling them how he and Harry got lost around the castle during their first week at Hogwarts. It seemed to ease their nervousness. He quickly realized he enjoyed making the younger students laugh. 

He also discovered he was particularly good at making homesick kids feel better. He would tell them about a typical day at the Burrow while he was growing up, and while the Muggle-born children couldn't identify with some aspects of wizarding life that he took for granted, they were fascinated. They asked him questions as though he knew all the answers. Because of that, he went as far as researching some of the answers he gave them. And in return, they opened up to him and practically begged him to hang around them. He was happy to do so. Perhaps the one thing that made him prefer their company was the fact that these youngsters had no preconceived notions about him. To them, he wasn't just "another Weasley" or "immature Ron," as he was known to possibly all of the third-years, and at least half the second-years. The first-years simply accepted him as a Prefect, someone who knew his way around the castle, someone whom they could ask questions and expect reasonable answers from. And they awakened his protective instincts, as well as satisfied his need to be a big brother. 

Before two weeks had gone by, the first-years told him he had been named their favourite Prefect. Soon, even the second- and third-years seemed to be hanging on to his every word and competing for his attention. It felt so strange. After all, shouldn't Harry and Hermione be better at this than him? The answer finally came to him one morning. As soon as he stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast, voices were calling for him all over the Gryffindor table. 

"Hey, Ron, can we schedule that study session this week? We have a test in Potions coming up!" 

"Ron, Ron, you just have to help us with our Flying lessons! We keep falling off our brooms!" 

"Ron, this Transfiguration lesson is so hard! Can you help us out?" 

"Ron, which book is the best reference for hinkypunks? We're supposed to hand in two rolls of parchment..." 

"Hang on, hang on! Let a bloke breathe first! You're all going to give me a heart attack, and I haven't even had breakfast yet!" He clutched his chest as he spoke in his best dramatic voice. Scattered giggling broke out at the table. 

He pulled out parchment and quill from his book bag and spoke as he walked back and forth along the table. "Right. Who needs study sessions in Transfiguration?" He listed down the names of those who raised their hands. "Potions?" Almost every first-, second- and third-year's hand shot up. He groaned. "Defense against the Dark Arts? History of Magic? Flying? Charms? Herbology?" After counting off all the names he wrote, he grouped them according to year and subject. Seeing a pattern in his list, he thought of a plan to cover everything that needed to be done. 

"All right, settle down. Here's what we're going to do, so listen carefully. First, each class will choose a representative who will arrange study sessions with the Prefects. Make sure you pick one who's hard-working and reliable, or you'll regret it. Second, each class will form study groups of at least three students each. Make sure you've studied before meeting with your group, or you'll never get anything done. Try to work out your questions within the group first, then write down the ones you can't answer and submit them to your class representative. Those questions will be covered in your study sessions with a Prefect. Although, it looks to me like Hermione will be leading all these study sessions, well, except for Flying, that would definitely fall to Harry. But still, all these study sessions with you lot can't be good for Hermione's health. Too bad no one needs help in Divination, or should I say lucky for you? Believe it or not, I'm supposed to be one to help you on that subject. So this means we have to make a very good schedule, as we fifth-years have O.W.L.s and the seventh-years have N.E.W.T.s to worry about. Which leads us to... third, the best we can do right now is stick you with someone who can decently teach a subject, but not necessarily the expert on it. We'll try to answer all your questions, and if we can't, we'll inform the professors that you're having trouble with that topic so they can go over it with you again. Fourth, the Prefects will try to make themselves available for personal help when you really need it, but don't count on them having a lot of free time, okay?" 

When he stopped speaking, he realized that the entire Hall was silent. He looked around. Everyone had been listening to him, even the professors seated at the staff table, which included the heads of Houses and Dumbledore, who seemed to be beaming at him. At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Hermione, Ginny and twins were looking at him with a similar expression on all their faces: as if they were shocked, yet somehow proud of him. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were looking at him as though he was someone they didn't recognize. And at the Slytherin table, Malfoy and his cronies were looking at him with more disgust on their faces than usual. 

"W-well, that's it. Eat up, and _do_ try to get to your classes on time. Let me know who your class representatives are by the end of the day." Everyone was still looking at him. It was either he was nutters, or the whole school had been Confunded. He sat down next to Hermione. "Why do you lot keep looking at me like I've grown another head? What's wrong?" 

"N-nothing's wrong, it's just that... you've been acting very differently since term started, and today,... well, you've never acted like this before," Hermione struggled to explain. 

"Acted like what?" 

"Like you're all grown-up, somehow," Ginny answered. 

"Like you've stopped being a whiny little brat," Fred chortled. 

"Like you've taken a leaf out of mum's book," George added. 

"Like you're starting to show who you really are at last," Harry concluded. 

He gave them all a lopsided smile. "Thanks." Then he reached out and took a big helping of everything on the table, and started to eat. 

"I -- I think it's safe to say... you won the bet, Ron," Hermione quietly said to him. 

"Really?" He looked at her. She nodded. "Our judge has spoken, mate. You'll have to start paying up by the first Hogsmeade weekend," he said as he turned to Harry. 

"That's one bet I'm happy to lose," Harry smiled at him. 

As he ate, he glanced at Hermione, who looked at him with a mixture of awe and pride that was better than winning twenty wagers against Harry, the twins, and even Snape, for that matter. The way she looked at him made him glow with warmth that entire day. 


	4. Chapter 4 She's a Model!

**CHAPTER FOUR - SHE'S A... MODEL?!**   
  
  


A single glance into Hermione's room was all it would take for anyone to see that it was in perfect order. In other words, her room was in its usual state that night. The books that lay on top of her desk corresponded to the scheduled reading material for the day in preparation for the N.E.W.T.s. But Hermione wasn't reading her books tonight. In fact, studying was the farthest thing from her mind right now. She was too busy reliving her fifth year to worry about anything else. She almost wished she could get a hold of the Time Turner Professor McGonagall gave her so she could change -- quite a lot of things, actually, especially those that concerned her relationship (or lack thereof) with Ron. But then again, she knew that every change she would have made could have caused many other ripples that might have been even more disastrous to their friendship. Not that their friendship was actually a _friendship_, to begin with. It was... something else, certainly nothing like the friendship bordering on brother-sister love she and Harry have. With Ron, she was... different, mainly because he was so different from Harry. But why is that? Maybe the past held the answers that eluded her tonight. 

It was only when she looked back did she realize that she had known it all along -- Ron would lead her down the path of wrongdoing as early as their first day back during their fifth year. It seemed to be his goal to make her break at least five rules a day, despite, or maybe because of, the fact that they were both made Prefects. She never expected to give in to him, but something in the way he had challenged her made her anger flare up like a camp fire, and her resolve crumble faster than dry twigs fed to said camp fire. It seemed that the harder she tried to behave properly and abide by the rules, Ron would try even harder to get her to break them, and, to her complete shock and horror, she would give in to him. She had always felt guilty about breaking school rules, but now she was utterly appalled, as she was supposed to be someone who enforced the rules, not break them. 

She shuddered as she remembered taking the twins up on their wager about what House Viktor would belong to. She had never felt so ashamed in her entire life when Viktor approached her just after Ron had left the Great Hall with the first-years after the banquet. 

"Hello, Hermy-own-ninny." 

"Hello, Viktor. Did you have a good trip? You didn't come on the Hogwarts Express, did you?" 

"No, I vent by Floo to Hogsmeade, as Professor Dumbledore instructed. I vould have vanted to Apparate, but Dumbledore said it vould not be a good idea. A carriage vas vaiting for me, along vith a man called Filth." 

Hermione resisted the urge to tell Viktor that one simply cannot Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds. That would be too, well, know-it-all-ish. "Er, that's Filch, the caretaker. Oh, congratulations on becoming a Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout is your head of House, and she's a wonderful Herbology teacher." 

"Thank you. I vas hoping to get into Gryffindor, but the Hat said I belonged in Hufflepuff, and that I vas needed there. I don't understand vot that means." 

"Well, we'll find out soon enough." 

"Yes. My housemates vanted me to play Quidditch on the team. But perhaps that vould not be fair to the other teams." 

"I don't know if Hogwarts has any rules on that. Your housemates should have talked to Madam Hooch before they asked you. She's the Flying instructor and referee for the Quidditch matches. But maybe it's their way of making you feel welcome." 

"Perhaps. I see you are a Prefect. You vould not be giving me any detention if I break the rules, vould you?" 

Was he flirting with her? She blinked away the thought before answering in her best Prefect-sounding voice. "Seeing as you're new here, I might let you off with a warning first. But don't abuse the fact that you're friends with a Prefect, the others might not let you get away so easily." 

"I vill keep that in mind," he answered with a smile that did not reach his eyes. 

Viktor was looking at her, well, there was no other way to describe it, as though he was disappointed. She really didn't know what to say next, so she decided it would be best to leave off before things got awkward between them. "Oh, I have to go now, I've got duties. But let's talk again soon." 

"Of course. Goodnight, Hermy-own-ninny." 

"Goodnight, Viktor. I hope you like it here at Hogwarts." 

"I loved being here last year, and I think I vill continue to love being here this year." 

There was something in his voice that made her nervous. "I'm sure of it. Well, goodbye." She turned and walked away as quickly as she could without appearing to be rude. However, she looked back and gave him a small wave, which he returned. As she left the Great Hall, she saw out of the corner of her eye that Viktor had not moved from the spot where they had stood and talked. 

However, any questions she may have been asking herself about Viktor's behaviour were driven from her mind by the thought of the wager she made that night. It was sooo silly and childish. She shouldn't have done that, making a stupid bet and agreeing to do stupid things if she lost. Prefects were supposed to be above petty things like that, weren't they? But then again, maybe she wouldn't have felt so terrible if she had won. As she didn't, she had to endure Ron calling her 'Mione. It was only after nearly four years had passed since that fateful day, that she was able to admit to herself... she liked the way Ron called her 'Mione. And only he was allowed to do that. Anyone else who tried got an earful from him, sometimes with a threat that a fist would follow said earful if the person concerned was being too stubborn. But still... she shouldn't have let her temper get the best of her then. After all, she was a Prefect. She was expected to help maintain order in the school, and be a role model for the younger students. 

She didn't know what to make of Ron. He was so... unpredictable. For instance, the night of the start-of-term banquet, after behaving in such a way that would have earned them detention for the entire year had any of the staff got wind of it, Ron turned around and assumed his duties as though he had always been a model of propriety. The image of him taking charge of the first years and leading them up to Gryffindor tower as if he had done so everyday of his life was so unlike anything he had ever done before that she was... breathless. And that was only their first day as Prefects. 

During the first two weeks of the term, she was truly worried that Ron wouldn't be able to hold on to his Prefect badge, as he acted more exuberantly than the first years he was supposed to be in charge of. And though she didn't tell anyone, she had been secretly hoping that Ron would win his bet against Harry. After all, Harry could afford to buy sweets for Ron, but Ron would be doing a disservice to Harry by, er, making up his homework, as Harry would never learn anything on that subject, even if it was Divination. But when Ron proved her fears wrong _and_ won his bet this time, she couldn't help but rejoice. 

In the succeeding weeks, she kept hearing all sorts of odd stories about Ron from the younger students. One third-year told her that Ron had helped him with his Arithmancy homework by using... Exploding Snap cards? How did he do that? He never even studied Arithmancy, for Merlin's sake! But when she looked at the Arithmancy homework in question, the equations were all correct. And then there was a second-year who learned how to make Pepper-Up Potion when Ron explained the relationship between the degree of heat used and the brewing time needed to ensure maximum effectiveness of the potion by using... Gobstones? She nearly fainted when she heard about a first-year who got top marks on an exam about important dates and persons in History of Magic by borrowing Ron's collection of... Chocolate Frog cards? It was all so... so... Ron. All these things could only happen with him. 

One thing that puzzled her back then was how the younger students all said learning with Ron was _fun_. How could that be? To her mind, learning had nothing to do with fun. Learning was... learning. And fun was fun. But then, Ron also said he had fun while he was teaching his charges, and sometimes, they learned new things together. He was just as excited as the younger students were when he discovered something for the first time. She couldn't understand it. She believed in being proper and conventional about doing what had to be done. She was never one to do things differently. So when she conducted her study sessions, it was as though they were in class: she lectured, the students took notes, she gave them practice tests, and required them to submit their homework to her so she could review it. She didn't know how to make learning fun because she didn't think of it that way. 

She was a bit hurt when she found out Ron was the younger students' favourite Prefect. Not that she expected the title, but she _had_ done more for them than any other Prefect, hadn't she? She didn't expect to be popular, but still, she had hoped for... what? She had the students' respect, yes, but Harry had their near-idolatry because of his famous name, and Ron had their... love. There was no other way to describe it: he was 'cool,' 'fun to be with,' 'was always good for a laugh,' and many students felt as though he was their brother. She knew she couldn't compete with her best friends, so she tried even harder to do things properly, hoping that her steadfast compliance to the rules would make the younger students see her as their role model. Perhaps they did, but when Ron was around, they all wanted to be just like him. She had finally decided that regardless of the younger students' desire to be just like Ron, they needed her to bring some order into their lives and a little discipline in their studies. So, she devoted as much time as she could to making sure they learnt everything they possibly could and used it to their best advantage. 

Part of her efforts to be the perfect role model for the other students was to prepare for the study sessions she handled as thoroughly as if she was a professor. She had sent for all her old study materials, and a mountain of binders and boxes came. Harry and Ron had to make four trips up and down Gryffindor tower to stow everything in her quarters. 

"This is ALL your stuff since first year? How did you manage to write all this down? Hang on, is this box filled with your notes from BINNS' CLASS? How could anyone take this much notes from that class?" Ron's face was a mixture of shock and admiration. Then, a shade of hurt passed over his features. "And you never let me borrow any of it." 

Her jaw dropped. "I -- I didn't think you'd learn if you didn't take your own notes. I would've let you read them while we were revising for exams, but I didn't think you wanted to... study that hard. You can -- you can borrow them for your study sessions, that is, if you want to." Her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides as she spoke. 

"Thanks." He looked into her eyes for a long moment, and she almost promised herself to let him borrow anything he wanted from her, if Harry hadn't tripped over one of her boxes and scattered papers all over the floor. 

While Ron used the common room for his study sessions, she always picked an empty classroom, to give the students the mindset that they were there to learn. She would write out the lesson on the blackboard, the students would copy what she wrote, and if it was a practical lesson, say, a spell, she would demonstrate how to perform it, then she would make the students practice. Afterwards, she would give them, well, it was too close to homework to call it by any other name, but she was positive it would help them understand the lesson better. 

One night, after a grueling study session in Transfiguration, she heard a group of students talking about her as they left the classroom. 

"Whew! That was a tough one!" 

"Yeah, and her acting like McGonagall didn't help." 

"Why couldn't she be more like Ron? Then we can enjoy the lesson for a change." 

"Right, she needs to loosen up a bit." 

"A lot, you mean." 

"She can take a lesson or two from Ron on how to loosen up." 

"Oh, I bet Ron can _really_ loosen her up." 

There was the sound of giggling, followed by, "you saw it too, didn't you? The way she looks at him?" 

"She's got it bad for Ron, that's for sure." 

"And she's not the only one. Did you see the Patil girl?" 

"Which one? The Ravenclaw? No way!" 

"I couldn't believe it either, but I had it from one of her dorm mates. And that other one, what's her name? Perks? They were drooling over Ron yesterday, when..." Their voices died down as they walked farther away. 

She felt tears stinging her eyes. She was a failure. Not only did the students find her prissy, they also made fun of her. But worst of all, they were positive she fancied Ron. But how could _they_ know, when _she_ was confused about what she felt for him? What kind of role model was she when the people she was supposed to set an example for couldn't take her seriously? And how was she supposed to face them again, knowing that they knew 'she's got it bad for Ron,' and that 'she's not the only one?' But her bout of self-pity was interrupted when-- 

"Hey, how was the lesson?" Ron asked as he came into the room. 

"F-fine," she answered, trying to make it appear as though there was nothing wrong. 

"What's wrong, 'Mione?" Uh-oh. Can't she ever hide _anything_ from him? 

"W-what makes you think anything's wrong?" 

He stepped up to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and peered into her face. "You forget who you're talking to. Now what is it? Were any of the students rude or mean to you?" 

"N-no, they weren't rude or mean. At least, not in front of me." She muttered that last bit under her breath, but he heard it anyway. 

"WHAT?! What've they been saying behind your back? Tell me! That sort of thing shouldn't be going on without us doing anything to stomp it out. It hurts all the prefects when students are rude to one of us. C'mon, out with it. What did they say?" 

"Th-they said I acted like McGonagall and I needed to loosen up and why can't I be more like you and--" 

"I think I get the picture. Those were third-years, right?" She nodded. "Cheeky lot, they are. I think I know who those prats are. Not to worry, I'll take care of it." She looked up in alarm, and it gave her the strength to meet his eyes for the first time since he came into the room. "Aw, don't give me that look, 'Mione! I swear I won't do anything stupid, trust me. I just need to give them a little lesson in manners." 

"Ron, please don't. It might make things worse." 

"No one can insult you and get away with it." 

"But--" 

"If you and Harry would only let me have a shot at Malfoy--" 

"Ron, shush! You're not talking sense anymore..." 

"You're the best Prefect in Hogwarts. Remember that." 

"Oh, Ron..." 

"Well, you are. And don't let any stupid cheeky prats tell you otherwise." 

She knew her eyes were swimming in tears by then. Why, oh why, did she suddenly become weepy and girly whenever Ron paid her a compliment? Why didn't he fight fair? Why couldn't he just go back to being that boy in fourth year who insulted her beyond all measure when he blurted out, _"Neville's right -- you _**are**_ a girl"_? 

He had been true to his word when he said he would teach those third-years a lesson in manners. They became cringingly polite and ridiculously eager to please by the next study session, and if they ever talked about her behind her back, she never heard of it again. And, to her complete satisfaction, they showed a remarkable improvement in their Transfiguration marks. But what surprised her the most was that they held Ron in higher esteem and loved him even more for not letting them get away with their "cheek." 

Another thing that puzzled her back then, and still did now, was that despite his uncanny ability to make learning fun for the younger students, Ron seemed to need just as much help with his own homework as he did before. He still depended on her to check all his answers and to explain things to him whenever he got an answer wrong. She couldn't understand it, but she was glad to feel that he needed her just as much as he always did. Sometimes she frowned at him for getting answers to relatively simple questions wrong, as though he did it on purpose so she'd have to lead him away to a quiet corner of the common room and explain the lesson to him again. He would smile and nod and behave in all respects as a model student, but she quickly found out that it was too distracting to have his complete attention focused on her. 

Although she enjoyed every minute of "playing professor" for Ron's sake, and despite the fact that he seemed to thrive on his new responsibilities, she had been worried that he might try to do too much and end up failing. She was so worried that she even harboured thoughts of dissuading Ron from trying out for the position of Keeper on the Quidditch team. But then, how could she tell him that playing Quidditch might be too much for him to handle on top of his Prefect duties? Pointing the fact out to him seemed to be disloyal, as though she didn't believe he could pull it off. After all, Harry seemed to be doing just fine. But then she needn't have worried, as Ron continued to do well, both as Prefect and as Keeper, despite the fact that Quidditch practice had begun to occupy a considerable amount of his time. 

But then again, there were times when she almost regretted not saying anything to him about taking on more than he could handle. He seemed to be too preoccupied that he forgot the simplest things. And along with it came a change in his behaviour that was so unlike the way he had ever acted before, at least with her, that it seemed as though getting along with him was like living on the edge of a volcano. He had changed for the better, yes, but still... something about him troubled her. Maybe it had to do with having to kiss each other for losing their bet with the twins. The longer they put it off, the more tension built up between them. 

She remembered one time when he asked her to look at his Potions homework. She took one look at the parchment he handed to her, and started tutting almost at once. 

"Ron, you forgot about the bezoar!" 

"Beeswax?" 

"NO, bezoar! That's the key ingredient in this antidote! Honestly, this was covered in our first lesson in first year! The whole concoction would be useless without it. Snape would have given you a failing mark if you handed in your homework like this!" 

And with that, she launched into one of her 'professorial lectures,' as some of the cheeky third-years would call it. Her hair kept falling onto her face as she talked. She swept her hair away impatiently for the fifth time when she suddenly got fed up and gathered her locks into a bun. But having nothing to hold it with, she reached out for her wand and stuck it into her hair to keep it up. When she turned back to Ron, she noticed he had been watching her intently. She felt her cheeks turn pink. She valiantly tried to resume her lecture, but when she looked up and saw that he was still staring at her, her voice died in her throat. 

"All right, 'Mione, I think I got your point now," he said in a soft voice that made her heart race. 

"Well, good," she answered, trying, but failing miserably, to give the impression that she was getting impatient with him. 

"You know, I think you look much better with your hair down," he said, as he reached out and gently pulled her wand out of her hair. The bun came loose, and her hair tumbled down her back. 

He looked at her appreciatively. "Definitely much better. You just have to do this, and your hair won't fall all over your face." He extended both hands and tucked several unruly strands under her ears. His thumbs trailed lightly across her cheeks as he drew back his hands. She felt her cheeks burn as his ears turned pink. They turned away from each other at the same time. 

"Erm, I think your homework is all right now. You didn't forget to mention how jasmine makes the antidote more effective, did you?" She spoke to her shoes. 

"No, I have it right here. Adding dried jasmine petals makes it work better, but only up to twenty petals should be added. Anything more than that would make the whole thing more toxic than the poison it's supposed to act against." He seemed to be answering to the ceiling. 

"Right. Do you need help with anything else?" She still couldn't look at him. 

"No, that's it for tonight. Thanks." 

They reached for their book bags at the same time, and that simple movement brought their faces to within inches of each other. If she had dared, she could have leaned over and kissed his cheek. And if he had dared, he could have... For a moment, it seemed as though he would. He looked into her eyes for what seemed like hours, and she felt herself starting to drown in those lake-blue eyes framed with the auburn lashes that made her lose her head last summer. But then, a group of noisy second years came in through the portrait hole, and the moment was gone. 

She didn't know whether to sigh in relief or in frustration. That, that, whatever-it-was, rendered her sleepless for at least three days. She thought about how it would feel like if the moment had come for them to fulfill the terms of the wager, and promptly started to tremble violently. She tried to calm herself down by reminding herself that they wouldn't have to kiss more than once, and after it was done, perhaps things between them would go back to normal. It was probably just one of those once-in-a-lifetime flukes that happened between friends that they wouldn't have to worry about again, right? But then, she never anticipated that their relationship had started changing, to the extent that nothing would ever be the same again. They could never go back to the way they were before. They were children back then, but now... she didn't even know how to act or react around him anymore. She tried to put up a brave front and pretend that everything was fine, when all the while she was really starting to go out of her mind. For the next few days, it seemed as though nothing had happened between them. She was starting to feel like herself again, but just then, she and Ron had a fight that ended in such a way that years later, she could still remember the bitter pang of regret she had felt then. 

She had come down to the common room at two in the morning, feeling uneasy. It was as though she instinctively knew that there were Gryffindors outside, roaming the corridors and just begging to get caught. A few moments later, the portrait hole opened, and Ron and a first year named Wilson walked in, each one stuffing a strawberry tart into their mouths. There was a bulge at the front of Ron's school robes that could only mean one thing: Harry's invisibility cloak was hidden underneath. A wave of disappointment hit her so hard that she nearly lost her balance. Where was the reliable, rule-abiding, mature Ron, and why did the immature, irresponsible Ron come back? Or was the "new Ron" only a mask he wore as though he was play-acting but would take off again whenever it suited him? 

"What are you doing out of bed at this time of night?" she hissed at them. 

"Nothing, just -- taking a walk, is all," Ron replied, as the first year had turned greener than a pickle. 

"After midnight, along the corridors, where Filch or Mrs. Norris or Peeves can catch you?" 

"W-we weren't g-going to get c-caught--" Wilson stammered. 

She rounded on him. "And why is that? Is it because he had an invisibility cloak?" 

"Y-yes," Wilson answered miserably. "Oh, no! I -- I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. I'm sorry, Ron. B-but she already knows about the cloak, doesn't she? D-don't you?" 

"'S all right, mate. Hermione already knows about the cloak. Don't worry about it. But don't tell _anyone_ else, okay? Why don't you go off to bed now? I'll take care of this." 

"Not so fast!" she huffed, as she blocked the way up the boys' staircase to the dormitories. "I can't believe you're doing this, Ron. Leading first-years in bouts of rule-breaking! Getting Harry's invisibility cloak, and for what? Stealing food from the kitchens? You're a Prefect, for goodness' sake! Why don't you act like one?!" 

"Now wait just one minute! Who do you think you are, lecturing me on what I should and shouldn't do? You're not McGonagall! And I don't remember asking you to keep reminding me I'm a bloody Prefect! I know what I'm expected to do, and I'm doing it the best way I know how! You don't know what Wilson and I were doing outside, so you shouldn't be jumping to conclusions about us going rule-breaking. Besides, it's none of your business anyway, since Wilson came to me in confidence. So just step aside and let us get some sleep!" Ron's face was purple with anger. 

"Not until I sort this out first! If you don't talk to me, I'll report the two of you!" 

"Fine! Make your stupid report! See if I care!" 

"FINE!" 

"P-please, Hermione... R-ron was j-just helping me g-get a l-letter to my dad. H-he's a Muggle, and I-I'm worried about him. My mum died when my baby sister was born, a-and my sister is too young to do the kind of magic mum used to do for dad. M-my mum used to make my socks dance along the tea table, and my dad loved it. My mum d-died four years ago today, and I knew dad would be lonely. I couldn't sleep, so I wrote him a letter, but I d-didn't have an owl, so I couldn't send it. Ron got P-pig to take my letter. On the way back, I told Ron I was h-hungry, so we stopped by the kitchens. R-ron borrowed the c-cloak so we wouldn't get caught, and I wouldn't get a black mark on my record in my first year. That's the truth, I swear. P-please don't report Ron, report me." Her mouth had dropped open while Wilson was speaking, and had continued to open and close soundlessly. 

"No, she won't. She'll report me, and that'll be the end of it." He looked into her eyes with a fierce expression on his face. "Let him pass, Hermione." 

She stepped aside, and Wilson ran upstairs. He headed for the staircase, his eyes continuing to pierce hers. She reached out and grabbed Ron's arm just as he was about to brush past her. Tears were falling from her eyes like rain, but she didn't care. "R-ron, I'm sorry. I -- you were right, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I was just worried about you getting caught. I didn't want you to lose your Prefect badge. I couldn't bear it if you lost the chance to do something you're so good at..." She stopped talking as she looked into his eyes. They were burning, perhaps with anger, or maybe even hatred, for her. She let go of his arm, trying to prepare herself for whatever he would say. 

"How could you just think the worst of me without even considering there might be a good reason why I'm doing what I'm doing?" he asked in a low voice that made her quiver. 

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have..." 

"Why do you think you have to keep reminding me what's expected of me? I already know I'm expected to be this perfect, prissy, brainy sort of person, and I'm not. I also know everyone's just waiting for me to mess up. I didn't think you'd be betting against me, too." 

"I'm not, believe me, I'm not..." 

"What is it about me? Am I just too daft to be trusted to do what's right?" 

"No, Ron, don't say that. You're kind and caring and... and... everyone loves you. You're a wonderful person, you really are. Please believe me." She took one step forward and held out her hands to him. Her hands brushed against the sides of his robes, and she clung to him desperately. She tried to tell him with her eyes what she had no words for. 

He must have understood her, or perhaps he saw something in her eyes that she couldn't help letting him see. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Then, he took one step forward, reached out and wiped her tears away, his eyes locked onto hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Their bodies were only inches apart. She nearly gasped when he broke eye contact, only to stare intensely at her lips. She blinked, and the tears that were still making her eyes swim trickled down. He growled softly and wiped her face again. He came closer, stooping down so that their faces were on a level with each other. She could feel his breath on her face, smelling sweetly of strawberry tart and... and... Ron. She froze as she realized she'd been licking her lips, anticipating... what? That he would kiss her? He moved closer, and she was sure she would feel the warm pressure of his mouth on hers, when... 

"Meow?" They sprang apart. 

"C-crookshanks? There you are," she murmured. She heard him sigh, then walk upstairs. She picked up her cat and hugged him fiercely, as tears fell from her eyes again. 


	5. Chapter 5 He's a Keeper

**CHAPTER FIVE - HE'S A KEEPER**  
  
  


Ron came back to the present with a start. The voices around him finally started registering in his brain. He was hearing a few first- and second-years talking about trying out for the Quidditch team next year. There would be four vacancies by then -- the Seeker, Keeper and the two Beaters, currently occupied by Harry, himself, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. The younger students were also talking about how difficult it would be to find replacements for Harry and... himself? He could understand the part about Harry being quite irreplaceable, as he had been Seeker since first year, and had almost always caught the Snitch. But him? Was he really that good? He'd never even played half as long as Harry had. In fact, during his fifth year, there had been a short period when he wasn't even sure whether he would try out for Keeper at all. Only one person had managed to shake his determination to be part of the house team -- Hermione. 

He started reminiscing again as he sprawled comfortably in his armchair. He recalled the time Quidditch tryouts were held in fifth year: third Saturday from the start of term. Back then, he never thought he could look forward to, and be terrified of, anything at the same time. He loved the game and wanted nothing more than to be a part of it. But what if he wasn't good enough to play for the house team? He tried very hard not to think about that. Harry was a natural, and Krum was... Krum. Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to join his best friend in playing his favourite sport, and show Krum that not all the talent on the Quidditch field belonged to duck-footed gits like him. 

But then, there was Hermione. She had cornered him earlier and asked him whether he would be trying out for Keeper. For the space of two seconds, he was at a loss about what sort of answer to give her. He wasn't sure if she would encourage him, or lecture him about the evils of trying to do too much at once. Finally, he told her about his plans, and she simply wished him good luck. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry. She wished him good luck -- did it mean that she believed he would make the team? Or did it mean that she thought he would need all the luck he could get? She didn't give him a lecture -- did it mean that she thought he could handle Prefect duties and Quidditch practice just fine? Or did it mean that she didn't care about what he did with himself? That girl -- yeah, yeah, she IS a girl, all right? Does a man have to be haunted by one mistake for the rest of his life? Er, anyway, that girl was going to lead him to the brink of insanity, then smile sweetly at him as she pushed him over the edge. 

Suddenly, something occurred to him to distract him from thoughts of Hermione. It was very important and he had brooded over it for quite some time, or else he wouldn't set aside his fantasies about grabbing Hermione as she walked past him, pinning her against the wall (any wall, or maybe a door,... any solid object that would support their combined weight would do), and snogging her senseless... Right. Something very important, was it? Oh, yeah. Harry. He needed to talk to Fred and George about Harry. Luckily, the twins were coming towards him. He had to get rid of this concern that was weighing down on his chest before he forgot and started imagining that Hermione lying on top of him was the reason for the heavy feeling in his... He had to shake himself a few times before the horndog in him was sufficiently subdued. 

"Well, if it isn't ickle baby _Pinhead_ Ronniekins," Fred cooed. 

"Ah, yes, mum's pride and joy, and Gryffindor's resident prat," George counter-cooed. 

"Shut it, you two. I need to talk to you about something very important." 

"Ooh, a matter of utmost importance, is it? Well, I think I may be aware of your predicament. Let me give you a piece of advice: sometimes one way to tell whether it's a girl is when it has long hair and wears a skirt. But then again, some long-haired blokes wear kilts, so you have to be careful about that. George, you remember that time when Bill was dating that bonny Scottish lassie?" 

"How can I forget? I took one look at Bill wearing that kilt, and I was scarred for life." 

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?!" 

"All right, all right. We just wanted to brighten up your day, considering your face is as crumpled as yesterday's Potions homework." 

"Yeah, we didn't know you'd been severely beaten by a grumpy stick." 

"If you prats are done spouting bollocks now..." 

"Okay, okay, settle down. So, what is it you want to tell us?" Fred asked. 

Uh-oh. How was he going to say this? He stared down at the carpet as if he would be able to read the right words there. 

George's voice broke the silence. "Well? We know the carpet looks a bit worn out, but then again, it must be at least a hundred years old. Is there anything else you want to point our attention to? Maybe the tapestry over there?" 

"Well,... you... you're..." 

"Gred and Forge..." 

"The handsomest men in Gryffindor..." 

"Stop that! What I meant was... You're... You have..." 

"Charm..." 

"Wit..." 

"Intelligence..." 

"A sense of humor unlike any other in the wizarding world..." 

"_Spankingly_ good backsides..." 

"Not to mention, er, assets, that would make any girl, ahem, applaud..." 

Ron took two steps, came face-to-face with the wall, and promptly started banging his head against it. The twins grabbed him and led him to the common room sofa. 

"Sorry, we didn't know it was that important." 

"Look, just say it. We promise not to make fun of you. Go on." 

He took a deep breath. Then he started speaking in a low voice. "You're going to choose a new team Captain today." The twins nodded. "And you're going to choose Harry." They nodded again. "Okay. You're making a good choice, but I'm not sure Harry will thank you for it." The twins sported an identical look of surprise. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying Harry won't be able to handle it. Quite the opposite: he'll handle it if it kills him. And that's what I'm worried about. He's got a lot on his mind already. You haven't shared a room with him this summer, so you don't know. He hardly sleeps -- probably dreams about Cedric and Voldemort all the time." 

The twins cringed. "Blimey! You -- you said his... name!" 

"When did you... How did you..." 

"When I found out what happened to Harry after the Third Task, I was angry. Voldemort almost broke him. I know he's told me less than what really happened at that graveyard, but what he told me was enough. I swore to myself to give him all the help he would need, whether he wanted it or not. He needs to be reminded that there are other things in his life aside from Voldemort's shadow. But he doesn't need the whole world dumping its burden on his shoulders. Can't you see? If you make him Captain, he's going to have to carry every Gryffindor on his back. He'll take the blame for every mistake, it'll be his fault if the team doesn't perform as expected. And when Hufflepuff announces that Krum is their Seeker and Captain--" 

"What makes you think they'll do that?" 

"C'mon, Fred, what better substitute for Cedric could Hufflepuff ever hope for?" 

"Isn't there any rule against a professional Quidditch player joining a house team?" 

"I would have told you by now if I'd found anything. I don't think anything like this has ever happened before. I know it's unfair, George, but Krum IS a student, and the rules only say that a team member has to be a student. Anyway, with that kind of competition, Harry will be under a lot of pressure." 

"All right, we see your point. But what can we do about it? We've already decided it's going to be Harry, since we'll be leaving school and all." 

"And it's not as if anyone of us wants to be Captain all by their lonesome." 

"Well, then, there you have it. Choose a co-captain so Harry won't have to do it alone. Who's got the best head for strategy among you? Angelina?" 

"Yeah," Fred and George agreed. 

"Then make her Harry's co-captain. It'll work out fine, don't you see? Harry needs this year to ease into it, and Angelina being there will lessen his worries. I expect she can make you two toe the line. That alone will prevent Harry from having a huge headache." He ducked to avoid the pillows flung by the twins. "And when you leave school, Krum will be gone, too, so there won't be any duck-footed gits left who'll Wronski-Feint him to death. What do you say?" 

The twins regarded him for a moment. "Why, ickle Ronniekins! You... you're a MAN now!" Fred cooed again. 

"Who would've thought that pinhead badge would do wonders for your personality?" George counter-cooed. 

"ARE YOU GOING TO DO IT OR NOT?!" 

"Fine, fine, we'll do it. Take it easy. You're going to rip your boxers in half if you keep yelling like that." 

"We'll do it, don't worry. You have our word. Hey, don't give me that look! All right, all right, I'm uncrossing my fingers where you can see them. There! Satisfied?" 

He gave a huge sigh of relief. "Good. Thanks. Do me another favour, okay? Don't tell Harry what I told you." 

The twins thumped him on the back. "You're a good friend, Ron." 

"The best. You _know_ Harry. Not many people do." 

He returned their thumps. "Go on with you. You'll be late for your meeting." 

"You're still going to try out for Keeper on Saturday, aren't you?" 

"Yeah." 

"You're going to get it." 

"You're sure about that?" 

"We've seen your competition. You'll blow them away." 

"Mind you, we can't vote, 'cause you're trying out. But the others are nutters if they don't pick you." 

"That's good to know. Now, get out of here before the others hunt me down for making you late." 

"We're always late--" 

"Except for meals, of course--" 

"Unless it's something Charlie cooked." 

"Oh, yeah. Remember that stew he made? The one that looked like a potful of bogies?" They were still snickering as they walked out through the portrait hole. 

After the twins left, he moved to a quiet corner of the common room and started doing his homework, or at least tried to. Soon, he was overrun by first years asking him all sorts of questions on Charms and Potions. He answered them as well as he could, startled that he remembered anything at all about his past lessons. He also struggled to maintain the appearance of doing schoolwork, to set an example, of course, and after one hour, he was surprised to find that he had finished his History of Magic essay. He was moving on to his Herbology homework when the portrait hole opened, and Harry walked in. 

"Hi, Harry," the first years chorused. 

"Er, hello," Harry answered, somewhat shyly. After all this time, and despite his fame, Harry remained a bit aloof and wary when people tried to get close to him. "Listen, can I talk to Ron for a minute?" 

"That means shoo, you lot," Ron chuckled. After a few groans and some scattered whining, the first years got up and moved to the other side of the room. 

"What is it, Harry? Anything bad happen?" 

"No, nothing bad, not really. It's just... Ron, they made me co-captain with Angelina." 

"That's great!" 

"But I don't know anything about Quidditch strategy! And the first match will be a month from Saturday. How can I learn Quidditch strategy in a month's time?!" 

"Take it easy. First of all, you've been playing Quidditch for three years, so at least you already know the rules of the game. Er, you do, don't you?" He just couldn't help teasing Harry, seeing the look of panic on his friend's face. Harry threw a piece of parchment at him, smiling as he did so. 

Ron smiled back. "Kidding, mate. What I mean is, you already know what you can and can't do. Strategy is just the next step in playing Quidditch. It's all about finding a way of winning the game while trying to get as close to what you're not supposed to do without actually doing it." 

"Huh?" 

"Let me put it this way: Angelina will be there to help you, so don't snap the elastic on your boxers worrying about it." 

Harry reached out to cuff him playfully. "Wish _you're_ there to help me." 

Ron turned serious. "I'll do my best." 

"So you're really going to try out on Saturday?" 

"Yeah." 

"What did Hermione say about it?" 

"She said 'good luck.'" 

"That's it?" 

"Yeah." 

"No lecture?" 

"Nope." 

"Was she sick when you told her?" 

"She looked fine to me at the time. Why? Did she say something to you about it?" 

"Er..." Harry started to fidget. 

"Out with it, Potter. You can't hide behind that co-captain bollocks. What did Hermione tell you about my trying out for Keeper?" 

"Well, it's... she meant it in a good way... she was just worried, you know..." 

"Oh, I see. She thinks I couldn't handle being a Prefect and playing Quidditch at the same time?" 

"No, no,... not that you couldn't handle it... just -- just that you might try to do too much at once, and get hurt or sick or something." 

"Same difference." 

"Ron --" 

"Guess I deserved that." 

"What?!" 

"If I hadn't been a stupid, irresponsible, immature prat all these years, she'd probably believe in me." 

"Ron, listen to me. Hermione believes in you. She really does. She just tends to... worry to death, that's all. And she's worried to death about you. Worried about what you'll do when you make the team. Worried about what you'd do if you don't make the team. Worried about you getting hurt when you play. Worried about how you'd feel if you don't get hurt because you're not playing. You know, the usual stuff." 

"Yeah, that would be about as close to 'usual' as Hermione can get. So, what did you tell her when she talked really fast about all of this?" 

"How did you know she talked really fast?" 

"Mate, it's _Hermione_. Just make her recite something she's memorized, and she'll leave the Hogwarts Express behind." They cackled like madmen. 

"So, what did you tell her?" Ron demanded after they stopped laughing at last. 

Harry wiped away the tears that came from laughing too hard before answering. "I told her, well, not to worry, that you'll be fine, and that she should talk to _you_ about it instead of me." 

"And what did she say?" 

"She said, and I quote, 'if I can talk to Ron about anything without the two of us getting into an argument, I'll eat a whole box of Cockroach Clusters everyday for a week.'" 

"Harry, _please_ tell me you took her up on that." 

"Er,... sorry, Ron. The look in her eyes sent chills down my spine." 

"Coward." They started cackling again.   
  
  
  


Saturday morning was cold and cloudy, becoming cold and rainy by the time Quidditch tryouts were supposed to start. Ron had been right: Hufflepuff canceled reservations on the Quidditch field after Gryffindor's tryouts, because Krum had finally been persuaded to join the house team as Seeker. It didn't surprise Ron that Krum's teammates made him Captain during their first meeting. When he first heard about it, he was furious. Krum was already a professional Quidditch player; he shouldn't have joined the Hufflepuff team even if they pleaded with him on bended knee. There should've been rules on that. The git probably wanted to wipe the Quidditch field with the Gryffindor team's arses. Or maybe just _his_ arse, that is, if he made the team. Ha. That idiot probably thought Hermione would be impressed with a great professional player like him doing his house team a favour and playing against little boys, and then acting all apologetic whenever Hufflepuff won. But then... what did Hermione have to do with Krum playing Quidditch for Hufflepuff? She wouldn't have told him to do that, would she? Nope. Knowing her, she probably would have told him that he'd be giving his house team an unfair advantage. He was probably just trying to fit in. Oh, damn it all! The thought of possibly playing against Krum was making his heart pound painfully. 

He walked downstairs, nervously clutching the handle of his broom. It was another hand-me-down: his mother's old school broom, a Silver Arrow. He had spent most of his summer afternoons rebuilding and re-charming it, with his dad helping whenever he could (which wasn't often), and with several owls' worth of advice from Charlie. He had been quite satisfied with it when he'd finished, particularly when Madam Hooch said he did an outstanding job with it when he had her test it for compliance with the rules. But now, it seemed flimsy and clumsy-looking, especially beside Harry's Firebolt. He sighed. It would just have to do, wouldn't it? 

He passed through the Great Hall on the way to the Quidditch field, glancing at the students who sat back, sipping hot chocolate, torn between staying indoors and braving the cold and rain to watch the tryouts. He spotted Hermione sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table, talking to... Krum. Great. Just what he needed to sustain him during the tryouts: the mental image of his best friend and that duck-footed git... Oh, hell! He turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Hermione saw him and jumped from her seat. He wrenched the entrance doors open and stepped outside. He sprinted down the steps two at a time so she would know that he didn't want to talk, and pretended not to hear her when she called out his name. As he walked out towards the Quidditch field, gusts of wind drove the rain until it became a diagonal deluge that felt like burning-cold needles. He groaned. This was going to be a nightmare. 

He paused for a moment to register the feel of his soaking robes clinging awkwardly to him. He would have to factor in the extra weight of his wet clothes, aside from the wind and rain, while he tried to intercept the Quaffle and dodge the Bludgers. As he stood there, someone ran into him. 

"Ron! There you are! Didn't you hear me calling? I've been chasing you halfway across the grounds!" Hermione panted. 

"Why? Anything wrong? Did you want something? Maybe you should have waited till after tryouts. Look at you, you're dripping wet, and your teeth are chattering." He tried his best to forget that nasty image of her and Krum still lingering inside his head. After all, she ran through the rain to talk to him. 

"I just -- I wanted to wish you good luck." Even through the haze, he could see her blushing. 

He was a bit surprised at that. "You already did, when I told you I was going to try out. Don't you remember?" 

"Well, yeah. But I -- I wanted to -- do it again. N-not that you need it, but... well, since it's raining--" 

"I know, it never hurts to have more luck, right?" 

"Erm, yeah." 

"So..." 

"So... Good luck, Ron." She held out her hand. 

"Thanks, 'Mione." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Their eyes met, and for a few seconds, he felt warm and dry again. He started to let go of her hand, but she kept his hand in her grip. 

"Er, 'Mione, I should go now. Don't want to be late." 

"Oh, right." She let go, and he felt the rain and wind again. 

He patted her shoulder. "You should go back inside and get out of those wet clothes." 

"Oh,... I suppose you're right." He felt as though she had hoped for something from him, and seemed disappointed that he didn't give it to her. But how was he supposed to give her something if he didn't know exactly what it was? Just great. All she needed to do right now was to smile sweetly at him and give him a little push... 

He mentally shook himself. "Well, I'd better go," he said as he smiled at her. He started to walk away when she called out, "Ron?" 

"Yeah?" He turned back to face her. 

"May I watch you?" 

"Eh? B-but it's raining! You could catch a cold or something, sitting out there." 

"Please?" 

"I -- but... are you sure you want to?" 

"Yes. But if you think I'll ruin your concentration or something, then I won't." 

"Well, it's not that you'll ruin--" 

"Then I can watch?" 

He sighed. So that's what she wanted. Why didn't she say so in the first place? "C'mon, then." He took her hand again, and they started running towards the Quidditch field. 

"Let's find you some shelter," he yelled over the downpour. "Or maybe we can fix something up. You do know you're barking mad, don't you? Probably the only one who's nutters enough to--" 

His voice died in his throat. The stands were packed with Gryffindor first-, second- and third-years, waving a banner that read "GOOD LUCK, RON!" with each letter flashing a different colour. 

He turned to her in shock. "You -- you planned this?!" 

"It was their idea. I only helped a little." She was beaming at him. 

He shook his head. "Barking mad, all of you." 

"Whatever," she chuckled. 

"Thanks, 'Mione." 

"After all the trouble we went through, you'd better make the team!" Before he could even blink, she threw her arms around him and gave him a fierce squeeze, then ran to the stands. He smiled and gave a small wave to the watching students, and then joined the others who were going to try out. 

His competition consisted of only two other students: a third-year girl built along the lines of Millicent Bulstrode (a Slytherin student in his year, who grew even squatter as time went on), and a lanky sixth-year whom he recognized only by sight. Madam Hooch motioned them over to the middle of the field and explained what was going to happen. It seemed simple enough: the three Chasers had ten minutes to try and score against them, while they tried to dodge the Bludgers pelted towards them by the Beaters. They drew lots: he was first. Just then, the wind blew harder, and the rain poured as though giants were wringing the clouds. Great. He would either drown while up in the air, or take a Bludger to the head even before he could see it coming. 

As he flew into position in front of the hoops, he watched Angelina, Katie and Alicia as they moved into an offensive formation. He knew that years of practice in this kind of weather, driven by a maniacal Oliver Wood, had given the three Chasers an enormous advantage over him. He, on the other hand, struggled against sudden gusts of wind just to keep a steady position. The Chasers were hurtling closer and closer. Right. This is it. 

The Chasers passed around the Quaffle so fast that it blurred in the rain. He followed the pattern they started: left, center, right, center, left, then skipping center to go back to left, then center, left, right. As they drew nearer, he got ready. When Katie finally threw the Quaffle towards the right hoop, he was able to block it with ease. Again, he quickly blocked Alicia's attempt to score through the center hoop, while noting that Fred and George were getting ready to aim the Bludgers at him. Just as George pelted one Bludger towards him, Angelina threw the Quaffle towards the left hoop. Thinking quickly, Ron aimed his broom handle downwards and barrel-rolled towards the Quaffle. His first roll saved him from the incoming Bludger. The second roll allowed him to wrap his long fingers around the Quaffle, while the third roll was... just for fun. He almost laughed aloud. 

He flew back into position, throwing his head back to flick away his wet hair from his eyes. The ten minutes were almost up, but there was time for one last attempt. Angelina threw the Quaffle to Alicia, and she flew towards the right hoop at her top speed. He followed her with his eyes and moved an inch or two towards the right hoop, but felt that it would be too easy if she did try to score. Suddenly, Alicia passed to Katie, who was positioned in front of the center hoop, and she immediately threw the Quaffle back to Angelina. As she attempted to score through the left hoop, both Bludgers came hurtling towards the goals. Ron traced a gigantic "W" in the air as he dodged the first Bludger, caught the Quaffle, and ducked from the other Bludger. Madam Hooch blew her whistle. His tryout was over. 

He glided back towards the ground to the cheers of the watching crowd. He touched down on the edge of the field near the stands, got off his broom and lay down on the ground, arms and legs sprawled out, letting the rain try and drown him if it dared. But he knew nothing could touch him today. He gave the tryouts his best effort. He was content. He closed his eyes and let the rain wash over him, until someone kneeled beside him, grabbed his shoulder and shook him. 

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?!" Hermione screamed. 

He opened his eyes, shielding them from the rain with one hand. He smiled his widest smile. "Never better!" he shouted back. He sat up. Then, simply because he couldn't resist the look of pure joy on her face, he threw his arms around her and started laughing. She hugged him back and started laughing, too. He lost track of time after that -- they could have hugged and laughed for three weeks straight, for all he knew. Not that that was bad. Oh, no, not bad at all. In fact, that would have been -- bloody amazing. 

They were still hugging and laughing out in the rain when Madam Hooch and the rest of the team came over to tell him that he was the new Keeper. 


	6. Chapter 6 She's an Actress

**CHAPTER SIX - SHE'S AN ACTRESS**   
  
  
  


Hermione felt a sharp twinge of pain in the pit of her stomach as she relived her memories. It was almost as strong as the one she had felt that night in fifth year, when she thought Ron had gone for a bout of midnight rule-breaking with Wilson. She couldn't even begin to describe how she felt when she found out Ron had been helping Wilson, not leading him into trouble. She sympathized with Wilson's anxiety over his father, as both her parents were Muggles. It was so touching how Ron understood how urgent it had been for Wilson to send his letter right away, so urgent that sending it in the morning would have been worse than too late in the child's eyes. If only she had waited patiently for the two boys to explain themselves to her, instead of threatening to report them,... would Ron have kissed her then? She knew her fifteen-year-old mind would have been too stubborn to admit that possibility back then, even though she had bitterly regretted what she said to him. 

She tried not to reminisce about that night again, and what had happened afterwards. It was just too... disappointing, to say the least. She had wanted so badly to make up with Ron right away, but too many things got in the way. Her pride. His stubbornness. Her stupidity. _His_ stupidity. And Viktor. She sighed heavily. It was too excruciating to continue thinking about it, so she tried to think about something else, something pleasant during their fifth year that involved Harry and Ron -- all right, all right, mostly involving Ron, with Harry smiling in the background. The first thing that came to mind was the day of the tryouts for the position of Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She and Ron had shared a hug in the rain that day. 

She didn't feel anything back then except warmth and joy as they hugged and laughed. She wasn't even aware that they had spent nearly half an hour sitting on the edge of the muddy Quidditch field as though they were little children enjoying their playtime, until Madam Hooch approached them, her eyebrows raised a mile high. It was only when she said, "Mister Weasley, may I have your attention, please?" that they let each other go. When Madam Hooch announced that Ron was the new Gryffindor Keeper, they threw their arms around each other again and erupted into another fit of giggles. It was only when the twins started teasing them that they suddenly realized what they were doing and drew away from each other. 

"Well, well... what have we here, George?" 

"Blimey, if it isn't two of our favourite prefects... we didn't interrupt them, did we, Fred?" 

"I don't know... they were just about ready to snog when we came along, weren't they?" 

"But they weren't supposed to snog yet... only half the school's watching. Oh, well, we'll just have to wait till later. Maybe in the Great Hall at dinner, what do you say?" 

"Shut it, you two," Ron snarled. 

"Whoa, testy little lion we have here, don't we, Fred?" 

"Well, George, wouldn't you be testy if you were interrupted just as you're about to, er, pounce on your main course?" 

It was only when Ron stood up and glowered at the twins did Hermione realize that he had grown even taller than his brothers over the summer. He was tall and solid and warm... She stood up and pretended to flick her hair out of her eyes so that no one would notice her almost slapping herself for thinking such thoughts. 

"All right, all right, that's enough," Angelina intervened. "You two aren't going to make him regret getting a spot on the team, are you?" It wasn't a question. The twins suddenly behaved themselves. Angelina nodded grimly. Hermione was surprised at the twins' uncharacteristic obedience until she noticed that Angelina's wand was half raised and trained towards them. The twins must have learned from painful experience not to cross Angelina when her eyes glinted like that. 

Angelina then turned to Ron. "Congratulations, Ron. You'll make a great Keeper." Katie and Alicia voiced their agreement. 

Harry thumped Ron's back. "I knew you could do it! Now you have to help me learn Quidditch strategy." 

"No problem, mate. But you have to help me get used to playing out in the rain. Those were the most brutal ten minutes I've ever spent on a broom," Ron answered. 

"Don't worry, we'll schedule a few practice sessions to help you out, won't we, Angelina?" Harry said. 

The twins groaned. Angelina ignored them. "That's right, we'll whip you into shape, you can count on it." 

"Thanks," Ron answered. 

"Let's get out of here, my glasses are fogging up." 

"Right, I could use some hot chocolate. C'mon, 'Mione." Ron held out his hand to her. 

She never expected that two simple words and an equally simple gesture could completely unnerve her. Should she take his hand? Should she walk back to the castle holding hands with him? Would she be able to let go of his hand once she took it? She blurted the first words that came into her head. "Erm, I -- I have to... send a letter first. I'll meet you back in the common room." Then she took off as though Fluffy, the three-headed dog that guarded the Philosopher's Stone in their first year, was after her. She ran to the Owlery, petted Hedwig and Pigwidgeon for a few minutes, just to give the impression that she really had to send a letter, and then walked back to Gryffindor tower to change out of her wet clothes. 

From that day to the present, she had never, in those four years, once thought of discussing that hug in the rain with Ron, simply because she didn't think she should make a big deal out of it. After all, it was only a burst of friendliness on his part, nothing more, wasn't it? Well, of course it was. But, what about that time in the common room in fifth year, when she was just minding her own business, helping him with his homework, when all of a sudden he was pulling her wand out of her hair and brushing his thumbs against her cheeks? Did that fall under the category of 'burst of friendliness?' Well, since she helped him out with his homework, maybe he just wanted to, er,... show his _gratitude_? Yeah, right. She shuddered to think of what might happen if she suddenly felt _grateful_ to him for passing the salt at dinner. But then again, could it really be called minding one's own business to practically twist someone's arm every night so they would show you their homework and let you correct it? 

She groaned aloud at the thought of her foolishness and buried her face in her hands. It was only now that she could admit it to herself... she was a total fool when it came to Ron. Maybe he wouldn't have been so, well, demonstrative, if she hadn't given him any sign that she was... drawn to him. Her eyes told him too much. Her eyes spoke for her that night when they fought -- they almost kissed because her eyes were inviting him to do so. She couldn't push away the memories anymore. They only rushed back stronger and clearer. She remembered exactly what she had done, thought and felt that night back in fifth year. 

She was still clutching Crookshanks to her chest as she ran to her room, climbed into bed, closed the curtains around her, and burrowed her face into the pillows. She didn't know if she could ever leave her room again. In fact, she hoped that she'd be able to spend the rest of fifth year hiding behind the curtains of her bed. She couldn't stop crying, and yet she felt like laughing at the same time. Ron had almost kissed her. HE wanted to kiss her. He WANTED to kiss her. He wanted to kiss HER. Did he want to kiss her before that? That night he pulled her wand out of her hair -- if those second years hadn't come in when they did, and if they had become lost in each other's eyes... Was it a coincidence that she and Ron had nearly kissed after he became Keeper? Maybe it had something to do with holding each other in the rain on the day of the tryouts, just two weeks before that night. 

But tonight,... they were in the middle of a fight when something _almost_ happened between them, for Merlin's sake! She wanted so badly to scream in frustration as she lay on her bed, still hugging Crookshanks, and still torn between laughing and crying. Instead, she gave her pillow a few solid thumps. She shouldn't overreact, there was nothing to overreact about, she kept repeating to herself, as though it was the incantation to a powerful protection spell. 'I don't even have to pretend -- _nothing_ happened between us tonight. We fought, and then we sorted it all out. Everything will be all right in the morning.' She finally fell asleep to the sound of Crookshanks' purrs, but only after deluding herself for nearly two hours. 

The next day, she waited until she was sure Harry and Ron had already gone down to the Great Hall for breakfast before she followed them. She really couldn't face the prospect of pretending to be just fine in front of the boys before she'd even had breakfast. Not that she thought she could manage to eat anything, but still, there were limits to her acting abilities. Besides, she had to perform a spell that would disguise the puffiness of her eyes, and that took some time to do. 

Considering that the two boys weren't exactly early birds, Hermione arrived at the Great Hall to find that half the school had already finished breakfast. She met a large group of seventh year Hufflepuffs just as they were leaving. She had taken two steps into the Hall, when-- 

"Hermy-own-ninny?" Oh, great. Just what she needed -- another reason for her and Ron to fight. But wait a minute, part of her brain whispered to her, what's wrong with talking to Viktor? This IS a free country, after all. So what if Ron didn't like it? He would just have to get used to seeing her and Viktor talking. Not that she would want to do anything more than talk to Viktor -- he's just a friend. But then again, so was Ron, and she wanted to k-- 

She shook herself mentally before she totally lost her mind. "Good morning, Viktor," she said, hoping her voice sounded normal enough to escape notice. 

"Good morning." There was a short pause. Then... "So, your friends and I vill be playing against each other next veek." 

"Erm, yes, you will. It's too bad, because I really want to cheer for all of you, but I don't know how to do it." 

Viktor smiled. "I vill understand if you don't cheer for me. But still, it is the best team who vill vin, is it not?" 

"Of course, Viktor. Er, I won't keep you. I'm a bit late this morning, and I haven't had breakfast yet..." 

"Hermy-own-ninny, I vant to ask you something if I may." 

"Oh,... yes, yes of course. What is it?" 

"Vell, this Saturday is a... Hogsmeade veekend, is it not?" 

"Yes, it is." Uh-oh, where was he going with this? 

"I vas vondering if you vould like to go vith me." Oh, Lord. Could this day get any worse? She stole a glance to where Harry and Ron were sitting. She knew they had seen her and Viktor talking by the looks on their faces. Harry's expression can be best described as 'I smell death and destruction,' while Ron's face was red, and he looked fit to kill. 

"Well, I -- I think most of the prefects will be on security duty this weekend. I'll probably be included in the duty roster." 

"If you are on duty, then perhaps I could accompany you?" 

She glanced at Harry and Ron again. Harry looked as though he preferred to go back in time and face the Hungarian Horntail again rather than continue sitting at the Gryffindor table and getting caught in the inevitable argument between her and Ron, while Ron seemed ready to burst into flame like a dying phoenix. She groaned inwardly, and then remembered that Viktor was waiting for her answer. But, HOW should she answer him? Should she say yes? Should she say no? Should she give any reason for saying either yes or no? Confused, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. 

"Erm,... I guess that would be all right." 'Oh, no, I did NOT just say that!' She was starting to panic. Could she take it back? Maybe she could say... "Sure, why not? I'll meet you here on Saturday," her mouth blissfully chattered on. 'Who are you? Where's Hermione? What have you done to her?' she screamed to herself. 

She noticed Viktor was smiling at her, so she smiled back nervously. Viktor said goodbye and left the Hall. She wanted so badly to follow him out of the Hall, then walk out of Hogwarts, and keep on walking until she reached the ends of the earth. Instead, she walked towards the Gryffindor table and sat across Harry and Ron. 

As soon as she sat down, she knew she had to pull off the greatest acting job of all time to fool her closest friends. Well, then, so be it. After all, she WAS pretending nothing had happened last night. "Good morning," she said brightly as she helped herself to some toast and strawberry jam. 

Ron narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't speak. She pretended to ignore him. Harry had the stricken air of someone caught between a hundred thirsty vampires and a dead-end alley. 

She started eating her toast. She was surprised that her appetite returned as soon as she felt Ron staring intently at her. After finishing off her toast, she helped herself to some eggs and a sausage or two, and some tea. As she ate, the silence between the three of them became so thick, not even Godric Gryffindor's sword could slice through it. At last, Harry turned to her and managed to spit out, "you're running a bit late today." 

She suddenly noticed the dark circles under Ron's eyes. "Just slept well, I guess," she emphasized every word. He scowled at her. She could have sworn he even bared his teeth for a second. 

"You were talking to Viktor Krum just now, weren't you? He, er, seems to be doing well at Hogwarts," Harry gulped out nervously. 

She made a mental note to tell Harry later that he would never make a good spy if he lived to be a thousand years old. "Yes, he is doing very well here. Hufflepuff seems to suit him. In fact, he wished you two good luck on the Quidditch match next week." 

"I'll bet he did," Ron growled. The way he said it woke up something wicked inside her, something that told her to drive him mad so he would -- finish what he started last night. 

She pretended to continue ignoring him. "Oh, and he asked me to go with him to Hogsmeade this weekend." 

"WHAT?!" Ron thundered. 

"Er, you do know we're probably going to be on security duty on Saturday, don't you?" Harry asked. 

"Yes, I DID tell him that, but then he offered to accompany me if I WAS on duty." 

"What did you say?" Ron asked. 

She continued talking as though he hadn't spoken. "It was very kind of him to offer to do that. But I really wouldn't be able to look around the shops with him or stop for butterbeers. He'd need someone to show him around, as he's never gone around Hogsmeade on his own before. But then again, even if he just walked about, he'd get to know where everything is, anyway." 

"What did you say?" Ron asked again. 

She went on speaking. "I need to buy a few things, but as we're probably on duty, I don't know if... of course, I could make a list of what I needed, and Viktor would buy them for me if I asked. I really don't want to impose, but I think the prefects on duty would be doing the same thing. You asked someone else to buy things for you too, didn't you, Harry?" 

"What. Did. You. Say?" Ron's voice was quiet, but she heard an edge of steel to it that made her tremble. His voice forced her to look at him. The moment she did, she knew she had to answer him. 

"I -- I said... he could accompany me if he wanted to." The moment the words left her mouth, Ron stood up and left the Hall without a backward glance. It seemed she acted too well. 

They barely spoke two words to each other all week, even when they were partnered on the duty roster. She could see he was angry and hurt, but every time she tried to apologize, her pride insisted that she didn't do anything wrong, and the wicked something inside her kept shushing her whenever she tried to talk with him, so she kept quiet. But the silence between them was unbearable sometimes. There were moments when all she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and cry on his chest, the way she did in third year, after Buckbeak the Hippogriff had been sentenced to death. However, the matter was more complicated than a childish squabble about a rat and a broomstick. This was about... lives and hearts. 

Saturday morning dawned warm and sunny, becoming warmer and sunnier by the time the students were scheduled to go to Hogsmeade. Much too warm and sunny for Hermione's liking. It was just too much of a slap in the eye to her. Ron wasn't at the Great Hall at breakfast, and even Harry didn't know where he went. She was two seconds away from breaking down and crying when she saw Viktor coming towards her. 

"Shall ve go, Hermy-own-ninny?" 

"I -- I just have to wait for Professor McGonagall to announce who'll be partners on security duty. I hope you don't mind in case I'm on duty and we won't get to be, er, by ourselves." 

"No, of course not. There's Professor Mcgonagall now." 

McGonagall unrolled a scroll and announced, "the following prefects will be partnered on security duty: Miss Bones and Mr. Higgs, you will be in charge of the area around the Three Broomsticks. Miss Chang and Mr. Potter, you will patrol the areas leading to and around the Shrieking Shack. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, you will handle the block around Honeydukes--" 

Hermione froze. She was living in the middle of a bad dream wrapped around a nightmare. McGonagall's voice sank into a buzzing sound in the background. 

"Shall we go, then?" Ron's icy voice pierced her from behind. She turned around, but couldn't manage to look him in the eye. 

"Hello, Ron," Viktor greeted him. Oh, dear Lord. She felt as though she was going to witness a train wreck. 

"Hullo, Viktor." 

"Congratulations on becoming Keeper for your house team." 

"Thank you, and congratulations on becoming Captain of _your_ house team." 

"Thank you." Both boys fell silent and stood their ground on either side of her. After a few seconds, Viktor turned to her. "Hermy-own-ninny? Shall ve go?" 

"Yes, _Hermione_, shouldn't we be going now? We have to get there before the other students do," Ron said in a voice that sent chills down her spine and snapped her out of her stupor. 

"Oh,... y-yes, let's go." 

The three maintained a painful silence as they walked through the school grounds and headed for the gates. 

"So, Ron, Hermy-own-ninny tells me you built your own broomstick. You must be a very skilled craftsman." Oh, no! Viktor did NOT just mock Ron, did he? Of course not, but still, if she could put a facial expression to a voice, she could've sworn Viktor's voice was scowling. She had been gushing to Viktor that she admired Ron for building himself a broom in his determination to play Quidditch. That was what they had been talking about in the Great Hall on the morning of the tryouts, when Ron saw them and jumped to the wrong conclusion. She held her breath for Ron's answer. 

"Er,... no, not really. It was... it was an... heirloom, yeah, that's what it is. The Silver Arrow was the best broom in its day. It seemed such a pity to... let it go to waste." 'Wow! Good save!' Hermione thought. 

"Yes. Sometimes old things are the best for us to use." 'Oh, dear, the mocking comeback.' She had started a running commentary on their conversation inside her head. 

"Maybe, but not for Quidditch. It must feel good to have all the latest brooms and stuff to help you play the game better." 'Interesting combination of admiration and condescension.' 

"Sometimes, but they are just... stuff, as you say. It is your talent that helps you play the best game you can, is it not?" 'Hmm, this is getting personal.' 

"Not all the time. There are times when 'stuff' makes you seem better than you really are." 'Uh-oh, really personal.' 

"Ah, yes, but sometimes we are forced to seem better than we really are, just because many eyes are fixed on us." 'Defensive.' 

"It's not always bad to be where people can see you." 'Counter-strike.' 

"It is vhen you vant to be left alone." 'More defensive.' 

"Your freedom is the price you pay when you play the game." 'Accusatory.' 

"That is a price that one sometimes does not vant to pay." 'Defensive again.' 

"That depends on how badly you want to keep your moneybags loaded." 'More accusatory.' 

"Loaded moneybags cannot give you everything." 'Indictment on something Ron knows nothing about.' 

"Bollocks! Loaded moneybags will get you into places where talent won't. And don't try to deny it. I'm sure you've seen it too many times yourself. Merlin knows I see living proof of it here everyday." There was a short silence. Was Ron actually winning this war of words? 

Finally, Viktor spoke again. "Ah, yes, you refer to a certain player on a certain house team that ve vill both play against in the future?" She nearly stopped walking. Did Viktor just relent? 

Ron seemed a little taken aback, but showed he had the good grace to let Viktor off. "Slimy Malfoy in slimy Slytherin," he spat. 

Did Viktor just... chuckle? "Yes, that is one vay of putting it. Has Malfoy ever caught the Snitch before?" 

Ron snorted. "Oh, please! Malfoy wouldn't be able to catch the Snitch if it wore socks and a tea cozy." She nearly fainted when both boys started to laugh. She had to concede: Round One went to Ron. But then again, there would probably be quite a few rounds, as they weren't even halfway to Hogsmeade yet. This was going to be a long day. 

They reached Honeydukes at last. The good humour between the two boys had disappeared, and the atmosphere between the three of them was tense again. Maybe it had something to do with the sight of students milling around, mostly in pairs. Hermione sensed that both of them had only one thought: get rid of the other. Again, Ron had the advantage, as he was her partner on security duty, and they would have to stay together. However, Viktor would be just as hard to get rid of, unless... she got rid of him herself. But... but, she couldn't do that! After all, they had agreed to go together. But then again, this wasn't her idea of a good time. In fact, this wasn't her idea at all. Her idea was drive-Ron-mad. This was... a nightmare. This was fate blowing a loud wet raspberry in her ear. This was the three of them walking-around-the-block-over-and-over-while-one-boy-was-scowling-at-the-other-boy-beside-the-girl-caught-in-this-bloody-mess. Still, it would be rude if she asked Viktor to leave, and she wasn't rude, well, at least not when Ron wasn't provoking her. But then, assuming she DID get rid of Viktor because she wanted to, did it mean she wanted to be with Ron all along? Oh, dear. 

She thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. Was that Harry running towards them? Wasn't he supposed to be patrolling the Shrieking Shack with Cho? Was Cho in trouble? 

Apparently, Ron saw him too, because he called out, "Harry? What are you doing here? Is there any trouble in your area? Are you looking for reinforcements?" 

"Calm down, Ron. I left Cho with at least six of her friends. I just came over to start paying up on our bet," Harry answered. 

"You -- you left your post? If one of the professors sees you, you're dead!" Ron exclaimed, looking horrified. 

"Relax, Ron. Look!" They followed Harry's pointing finger. In the distance, they could just make out one of the prefects assigned elsewhere as he entered the Three Broomsticks. A few seconds later, he came out carrying several bottles of butterbeer, and hurried back to his post. 

"B-but, what if--" 

"I'll go back as soon as I buy your sweets, I promise." 

"Harry,..." But Harry had already ducked into Honeydukes before Ron could protest any further. She could hear him muttering, "stupid git! He's just scared of being alone with Cho, the little green-eyed prat! Paying up on our bet, Hedwig's arse!" 

"It seems you can come and go as you please, as long as you don't get caught. Maybe you have something you vould like to get, Ron? I can stay here vith Hermy-own-ninny. It vould not be a problem." Uh-oh. Did Viktor just try to get rid of Ron? 

"No, thank you, Viktor. I have a duty to perform, and I'm going to do it, even if the other prefects don't. But, maybe _you_ want to get something? You can come and go as you please, and you don't have to worry about _anything_." 

"No, thank you. I don't know my vay around." 

"Oh, don't worry about that. You can ask anyone you meet, they'll be glad to give you directions. Besides, even if you walk around on your own, you won't get lost. There's just one main street here." 

"I vould prefer to valk vith Hermy-own-ninny. But since she cannot leave her post, I vill stay vith her." 

"That reminds me... 'Mione, didn't you say you needed a few things, and you wrote them down so you could ask someone to buy them for you? I bet Viktor wouldn't mind getting them for you, would you, Viktor?" 

"Erm, well,..." She sighed. Looks like Ron won Round Two as well. 

"Do you really have a list, Hermy-own-ninny?" 

"Of course she does! I saw her writing it out last night. Show him, 'Mione." 

Just great. If she denied having made a list, she would be lying to Viktor, Viktor would say that Ron was lying, and Ron would kill her for making him look like a fool. She drew out a rather lengthy piece of parchment from her pocket. "Here it is. Are you sure you don't mind, Viktor?" 

"Of course not," Viktor said through gritted teeth as he took the parchment from her. 

"Well,... okay. Here's my moneybag--" 

"No, allow me to get them for you." 

"But, Viktor--" 

"I insist." 

"Please let me pay you back." 

"I vill think about it, at least. Vould that make you happy?" 

"Y-yes. Thank you." 

Viktor turned on his heel and walked away. She watched him for a few seconds. He WAS a little duck-footed, wasn't he? 

"Still a bit duck-footed, isn't he?" Ron asked. 

Oh, dear. She tried SO hard to _almost_ forget he was still there, and he just got rid of Viktor for at least half an hour. That would mean he wanted to... please, please don't say-- 

"'Mione, we need to talk." Uh-oh. 

"What should we talk about?" 

"Oh, I don't know -- how about,... _what the hell were you thinking, letting Krum tag along with us?"_

"I _didn't_ let him tag along, he asked if he could go with me." 

"But WHY did you let him? You knew we would be on security duty today, and he's hanging about and... and... distracting us from checking if there are any suspicious characters lurking around here. Yeah, that's it, he's distracting us from doing our duties properly." 

She glared at him. "Why on earth wouldn't I let him come along? Did you think I could stop him from coming here and walking with me while I'm on duty if he wanted to? What's so bad about that? All he probably wants is someone to talk to, and it just so happened that he chose me." 

"Well, he can just turn around and choose to talk to the Hufflepuffs." 

"What difference does it make whether he wants to talk to... us? Does it bother you that he came along with us?" 

"Oh, please. The day Krum wants to talk to me is the day I become the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. And of course it bothers me! It's so... so..." He waved his hands around wildly, as if that gesture finished his sentence for him. 

"What?" 

"What do you mean, 'what?'" 

"What were you going to say about Viktor bothering you because it's so... what?" 

"What did you expect me to say, 'it's so _cute_ that he's here with us?'" 

"Well, why don't you say what you really mean, instead of waving your arms about? You could put someone's eye out, doing that." 

"Fine! What I really meant to say was, it's _irritating_ for him to be with us!" 

"Really? I just _couldn't_ tell you felt like that from the way you acted." 

"Sarcasm won't work with me." 

"That's because you're so thick!" 

"You're just trying to make me angry so I'll forget about that duck-footed git. Well, I won't! Why did you want to go out with him, anyway? Do you fancy him?" 

"Wh--WHAT?!" 

"You heard me." 

"You call _this_ 'going out' with Viktor? Arguing with you in the middle of the street while Viktor is off shopping? And why does it bother you so much that he asked to walk with me today and I said yes?" 

"Don't try to distract me! I asked you if you fancied Krum!" 

"Why are you so interested in whom I fancy?" 

"Answer my question first!" 

"No, _you_ answer my question first!" 

"NO! I asked you first! And I will NOT answer anything until YOU answer me! Do. You. Fancy. Krum?!" He roared out the last four words. 

"If I did, why would you care?" 

"So you _do_ fancy him, then." His eyes had become two orbs of blue heat tearing into her. For some reason, the look he gave her made her blood boil. 

"Why do you care whether I fancy him or not?!" she screeched. 

"Why should it matter to you if I care or not? You fancy _him_, not--" He looked away. 

Just then, Viktor came up, the packages of items on Hermione's list floating beside him. "I got everything you needed, Hermy-own-ninny." 

"Th-thank you, Viktor." 

"Did you talk about anything interesting while I was gone?" 

"No, we didn't talk at all. We were _on duty_," Ron answered evenly, but she saw his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

The next few hours crawled by as though they were slugs with stomachache. Hermione's insides were hurting by the time they got back to the castle. She had to endure Ron's company all the way back to Gryffindor tower and up the staircase to the Prefect's dormitories, as he made her packages float beside her. She opened the door of her room. He put the packages down on the floor and left without saying a word. She slammed her door shut just as he slammed his door shut. She threw herself onto her bed, burst into tears, and didn't go down to the Great Hall for dinner that night. 


	7. Chapter 7 He's the Captain

**CHAPTER SEVEN - HE'S THE CAPTAIN**   
  
  
  


The giggling was stifled, but Ron instantly recognized who the source of the sound was -- Ginny. She and Harry were still sitting in the sofa in front of the fire, still talking (and probably holding hands under the throw pillows where he wouldn't see) and making plans about the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, which was scheduled right after exams. He ought to go over to the sofa and break up their cozy fireside chatter -- after all, it was expected of him, being an overprotective prat of a brother. But then again, he had more important things to do, such as... reliving the memory of other Hogsmeade visits. During his first visit in third year, he and Hermione had gone by themselves, since Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, didn't sign the consent form that would have allowed Harry to go. And yet, they had a good time. They went everywhere and did everything together, from admiring the owls in the post-office to gaping at all the wizarding equipment at Dervish and Banges, from walking around the Shrieking Shack to stuffing themselves with Honeydukes sweets, and finally gulping down butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks before heading back to the castle. Why couldn't things have stayed like that between them? Why did they have to go off on a wrong turn along the road and turn everything into a weird and painful disaster? Oddly enough, they seemed to have taken that wrong turn during fifth year. He rubbed his temples as the memories flooded back. 

The first Hogsmeade weekend of their fifth year was an even greater disaster than the start-of-term banquet. Sitting on the foot of his bed after having slammed the door of his room, Ron wondered if he had to live out the entire year from catastrophe to catastrophe until Voldemort was destroyed, or took over the world, the end-results depending on his mood. Never had he wanted so badly to strangle Hermione and kiss her at the same time. It was only when he felt his forehead smarting did he realize that he just slapped himself for thinking about her in _that_ way again. What was it, the hundredth time that day alone? 

He had thought about her as soon as he woke up that morning, hoping that he would be partnered with her on security duty so he could keep an eye on her and that duck-footed git. Going out, are they? Over his dead, rotting, worm-infested body! He jumped out of bed, gathered a fresh set of robes, made a mad dash for the Prefect's bathroom and into the shower, then out of the shower and into his clothes, then out of the Prefect's bathroom and back into his room to grab his shoes and his wand, and then finally out of his room and out of the portrait hole. But where to go next? A light switched on inside his head. He sprinted down several corridors until he came to the door he was looking for. Why leave to chance something that can be arranged to begin with? At first, McGonagall did not take kindly to his intrusion, but once he explained that Hermione might not be feeling as well as she pretended to be, yet would be insulted if she was not included in security duty, and gave a promise worthy of ten gentlemen to make sure she would not overexert herself, his head of House took out a quill and made a few hasty revisions on a certain schedule, and commented on chivalry being a dying virtue, but that there was some hope, as long as young men like him existed in the world. His guilt gnawed at him until he saw Hermione's face turn pale when McGonagall announced that they were partners on security duty. 

What had happened afterwards was nothing short of a bloody mess. He leaned his head on one of the posters of his bed and tried unsuccessfully to rub the memory of that near-bloodbath off his mind and into the wooden pole. Unfortunately, said wooden pole was not as smooth as it had been a century or two ago, and a splinter lodged itself into his skin. He swore loudly, ran to the mirror and plucked the splinter off. His broken skin started to bleed. Great. The wound was right in the middle of his forehead. Until it healed, he would be reminded of just how big of a prat he had been to her. He knew that only the extremely enraged expression on his face was the only thing that made the mirror refrain from making any comment. 

When she didn't come down to dinner that day, he went to the kitchens and asked one of the house-elves to bring her something to eat, as he knew she wouldn't even bother to answer him if he knocked on her door. Thinking that she probably would not leave her room until Monday, he asked the house-elf to continue bringing food to her room, and to ignore her instructions not to bring her anything until she agreed to come down to the Great Hall for meals again. As the house-elf chattered away about being glad to be of service, a thought occurred to him. Was Hermione still crusading for elfish liberation? He thanked the elf and walked out of the kitchens with a plan. He went to the library and nearly gave Madam Pince a heart attack when he told her he needed help with a very important research project. He was directed to several shelves, and he emerged a few hours later, smelling of mold and library dust, with a few smudges on his face and several pieces of parchment's worth of information. He traveled back to McGonagall's office and nearly gave _her_ a heart attack when he asked permission to use the Transfiguration classroom the next day for a very important project. 

The following morning, he passed around a message to the younger students to meet him after breakfast in McGonagall's classroom. He had arranged the chairs in a circle, and the desks stood flush against the walls, to serve as seats in case the chairs gave out. He was not disappointed. The classroom was packed. 

"What's up, Ron?" 

"Hey, congratulations again for making Keeper." 

"Yeah, that was some awesome flying you did back then. Wouldn't have missed it for the world." 

"Good luck next week, though. The Hufflepuffs have Krum." 

"That's not very fair, is it? Krum's a professional, for Merlin's sake!" The room erupted into a series of angry murmurs. 

"All right, all right, everybody settle down. That's not what we're here to talk about," Ron called out. The room went quiet. Uh-oh. How was he supposed to go about this stupid scheme of his? He gritted his teeth and went on. "Actually, I wanted you to give me a little lesson in history -- Muggle history, that is. At least half of you third-years are taking Muggle Studies, right? And those of you who are Muggle-born probably heard a few things from your parents and grandparents. I need to know what you can tell me about prejudice, cruelty and oppression in the Muggle world." 

"Hey, that's not a very cheerful topic!" 

"Can't we talk about something else?" 

"Yeah, it's Sunday! We're depressed enough with our lessons during the week." 

"I know, I know, but humour me, okay? This is very important. I wouldn't ask about it if it wasn't." 

For the next two hours or so, he heard facts and stories that made his hair stand on end. He learnt about such things as slavery and slave trading, the Holocaust, apartheid, and other acts of inhumanity. How could people be capable of inflicting such misery on each other? If people could do those things to their fellow human beings merely on the basis of outward appearances, can other creatures be expected to fare better at the hands of either Wizard or Muggle? He felt tears stinging his eyes. Now he began to understand why Hermione had been so passionate about freeing the house-elves. She probably got the shock of her life when she learned that the wizarding world was not that different from the Muggle world. And he had mocked her for her efforts. He realized that now more than ever, he needed to make up for all the stupid things he had said and done to her. 

Silence reigned in the room. He looked at the students, and saw that most, if not all of them, were affected by what they had just heard. Now was the time to give them a chance to do something about it. But he had to talk to them calmly and sensibly, and most of all, he had to avoid being argumentative or emotional. He had to persuade them, but at the same time make them think that what had to be done had been their idea all along. "Thank you for sharing all that with me. I know we can't do anything about the past, but there is something we can do right here, right now. I don't know how much of a difference we can make, but we'll never know unless we try, won't we? First, it's my turn to give a little information for those of you who are Muggle-born." He spent a few minutes talking about the plight of the house-elves, making a few observations on the similarities that had occurred to him while they were giving him the Muggle history lesson. Then he steered towards the point he wanted to make. "Some of you may have heard about a little group that Hermione started last year, the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare--" 

"Oh, spew--" 

"Well, I was going to suggest that she change the name to -- how about the -- Elfish Liberation Front? E.L.F. would look better than S.P.E.W. on the badges. I'm supposed to be the treasurer of that bloo-- er, that group. I really didn't take the whole thing seriously. But that was before I learnt all these things from you today. To tell you the truth, I'm not very good at making speeches. I'm sure Hermione would do a much better job. But maybe we can help her make a difference. If we give just a little support to the cause, perhaps the right people will take notice. It's all about giving the elves the right to choose -- if they want to be paid, which family they want to serve, if they want to have a day off once in a while. I know a lot of them are bound by loyalty and love to the families they serve. If they want to stay on with their families and work for free, that's fine. But they should not be forced to serve, or to punish themselves if they have, well, a difference of opinion with the family they work for. They are powerful magical creatures, and they can perform magic even without a wand. Maybe it's fear and ignorance that drove wizards into enslaving house-elves. Maybe it's jealousy of their magic and what they're capable of doing. But it has to end someday." 

He stopped to look at the younger students' faces. What he saw encouraged him to go on. "Maybe we can help bring that day closer. Would you like to give it a try?" 

All the Muggle-born students and most of those from wizarding families responded enthusiastically. He was surprised that only a few of them harboured doubt and contempt about the issue, but he thoroughly expected that most of them would be third-years. Hermione had spoken to them before, and they had brushed her off. It was such a pity that wizards so young could have such deep intolerance. 

"Thanks. This means so much, you have no idea. Okay, since S.P.E.W. hasn't met for quite a while, we'll have to get a hold of Hermione to call a meeting, and change the name of this group. Then, we'll surprise her by bringing out a list of 'new members.' That'll put her knickers in a twist." The students laughed. "So, everyone who's interested, come here and sign up. There'll be a small fee, nothing much, just enough to make the badges and leaflets. But I'll go around later to collect it." He came out of the classroom a few minutes later with over a hundred names on his list. 

He didn't see Hermione until she came down to dinner that night. She sat between Harry and Ginny, and carefully avoided looking in his direction. She looked pale and haggard, and her eyes were burning. He sighed. She was not going to make anything easy for him, was she? But then again, he had been a huge prat. He deserved what he got from her. She just pushed food around on her plate, then stood up and left after a few minutes. He was just about to get up and follow her when-- 

"Don't you dare go after her and make her cry again," Ginny hissed. 

"Stay out of this, Ginny," he retorted. 

"Can't you see that whatever you did to her is killing her?" 

"What the hell did she tell you about what I did?!" 

"She didn't have to tell me anything. I knew it was you, and that you did something incredibly stupid, because only you can make her that upset." 

He should get angry with Ginny for saying that, he really should. But then again, she was right. "That's why I have to make it up to her. Before it's too late." 

Ginny looked at him for a few moments, as though she was trying to judge his sincerity. She seemed to be satisfied by what she saw in his eyes. "Are you sure you're not going to make things worse?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure. Can I go now?" 

"All right." 

"Good luck, Ron. You've practiced groveling and begging, right?" Harry said. 

"Right." 

"I just hope you can work that into the first two seconds of catching up with her, before she kills you. It's going to be tough looking for a new Keeper before next week's match." 

"You're taking this Captain thing too seriously, mate. Now bugger off and let me apologize in peace." Harry chuckled and waved him off. 

He left the Great Hall and went straight to the library. He took two steps inside, and promptly collided with a stack of walking books. Some of the more massive volumes landed squarely on his large feet. 

"Ow! Er, sorry. Here, let me pick those up--" He looked up and came face to face with Hermione. She had the stricken look of someone who had fallen into a pit and broken both legs. 

"Hermione--" 

"R-ron, look--" she said at the same time. He indicated that she should go first. "About what happened yesterday, I'm really sorry about... about everything," she said, not looking at him. 

"What do you mean, you're sorry? _I'm_ the one who acted like an idiot yesterday. I wanted to say... I'm sorry." He knew that what he had just said wasn't enough, and that what he felt he had to say next was too painful to put into words. Still, he gritted his teeth and went on. "You -- you should be able to... to go out with someone you -- like. And you have every right to make friends and even... even -- fancy who-whoever you want. I know I don't have any right to stop you from doing those things. It's just that I... I'm -- worried about you. I just wanted to be a -- a good friend to you. But I haven't been doing a good job of it. And I've acted like a prat, haven't I?" She looked into his eyes, and he instinctively knew those weren't the words she wanted to hear from him at all. He almost groaned aloud -- he really _had_ made it worse, just as Ginny was warning him earlier. 

"N-no more than usual, I'd say," she answered, looking away again. 

"Well, I'd like to make it up to you." He looked at the books he had been picking up. They were the same books he had been reading last night. "What's all this for? Do you have another extra credit project or something?" 

"No, it's..." She looked as though she was struggling to decide whether or not to tell him what she was up to. 

"What is it? Maybe I can help." 

"You... you're going to help me do research?" 

"Hey, it's not like I don't know how to do it! I DID work on Buckbeak's appeal in third year, and it was a pretty thorough job, too." 

"No, it's not that. I think you did a great job on that appeal. It's just that... this is for S.P.E.W." 

"What about sp-- er, S.P.E.W.?" 

"I got a letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They found out about S.P.E.W. and wanted me to give them a list of members and its manifesto. But when they saw there were only three members, they told me I had to have at least one hundred members by the end of the month so S.P.E.W. can be considered legitimate; otherwise, it'll have to be disbanded. And if I don't disband S.P.E.W., they'll recommend my expulsion from Hogwarts for creating an illegal organization and attempting to cause disorder in wizarding society. I'm going to write a paper on the evils of slavery, oppression and cruelty, to make them reconsider. I was going to draw some parallels to what Muggles did, using certain historical events. If they'll just give me more time, I'm sure I can..." Suddenly, her shoulders slumped. "Oh, who am I kidding? I'll never be able to keep S.P.E.W. going. I -- it's so hard to fight for something no one cares about." She looked up, and her eyes were swimming with tears. 

Ron gave her his best sympathetic smile. This was his chance to make it up to her. But first, he had to tease her just a tiny bit. "Well, maybe we can save S.P.E.W., if you changed the name -- no wait, I was just joking," he added, as she frowned at him. He stepped in front of her so she wouldn't walk away. He shifted the books he was holding so he could pull a piece of parchment out of his pocket. She was still frowning at him as he handed her the paper. "Here, consider this a belated birthday present." 

"What's this?" she asked as she unfolded the parchment. Her eyes widened as she scanned it. "Oh, Ron, this is... amazing! There are--" She ran her forefinger down the paper. "--one hundred thirty signatures here. And they all want to join S.P.E.W.? Did you recruit them? When? How? Why...?" Her tears were threatening to fall any second now, but they weren't sad tears anymore. 

"Well,... let's just say you finally convinced me you were right about elfish--" 

His words were cut off when she threw her arms around him, making him drop all the books he was holding. She laughed and cried on his chest, making small hiccuping noises. He hugged her back and made soft shushing sounds -- they were in the library, after all. 

She tried to speak several times, but she only got as far as "oh, Ron," before she broke down again. He held her tighter and waited for her to calm down. Finally, she looked up at him, and her eyes shone as though they were twin suns whose clouds had all been washed away by the rain. 

"Thank you, Ron," she breathed. Her arms tightened around him, and then -- she stepped on a very thick book that was lying by her feet so she could draw closer to him. He nearly passed out in shock: Hermione Granger was deliberately standing on a book! She started to lean towards him. Was she going to kiss him? Oh, dear God, YES! Just a bit closer, closer-- 

"Miss Granger! You -- you're standing on -- A BOOK?!" Madam Pince bellowed behind Hermione. They sprang apart and he started picking up the scattered books. She wiped off the book she had stepped on over and over with her robes, apologizing profusely to the librarian, who continued to huff and splutter like a wounded bear. They hurried to the shelves to return the books under Madam Pince's watchful eye before sprinting back to Gryffindor tower at their top speed. 

He couldn't sleep that night. He tried to, but he couldn't. Hermione had almost kissed him. Hermione had almost kissed him _inside_ _the_ _library_. Hermione had almost kissed him _inside_ _the_ _library_ WHILE STANDING ON A BOOK. He could never fall asleep again, ever, or else he'd start dreaming of kissing her until he was forced to come up for air or die, then unclasping her robes, taking off her jumper, loosening her collar and tie, unbuttoning her blouse, and then... did somebody just light twenty fires inside the room? He started to sweat. 'Quidditch,' he thought frantically. 'Snape playing Quidditch while wearing a green lacy dress, getting knocked off his broom by a Bludger and landing head first into the sand pit. Sprout playing Quidditch, wearing pink fluffy earmuffs and slamming into a hoop. Flitwick--" The fire in his blood cooled down. He sighed with relief, and fell into a dreamless sleep -- for half an hour. Then he started dreaming about Hermione coming inside his room and climbing into his bed, unbuttoning his pajamas, then carefully smearing strawberry jam all over him before... He bolted out of bed, ran for his life to the Prefect's bathroom, and plunged his pajama-clad body in ice-cold water until his skin started to turn blue. 

He walked back to his room, nearly slipping on the floor several times, and leaving a wet trail behind him. This was worse than the two times he had... they had... well, what was that? What does one call that... that... thing where you look into your best friend's eyes and find out how lovely they are, and then it was too much to look at them and you just want her to close them, but you still want to keep on touching her as much as you can? Oh, hell, never mind. After the first time it happened, he was able to sleep for at least a few hours before he dreamt about kissing her until she was ready to faint. He woke up out of breath, sweaty and... ahem, _alive_, down there. He must have had those dreams at least a dozen times, but it wasn't so bad as that night when she accused him of midnight rule-breaking with Wilson. That night, his dreams had progressed further than they ever did before. After snogging her senseless, he had dreamt that he laid her on his bed, lay down on top of her, and started kissing her harder and harder until... he suddenly woke up with a pair of moist pajama bottoms, and was unable to sleep for the rest of the night. By the light of the setting moon, he went down to the Quidditch field and did some exercises and practiced flying maneuvers until it was time for breakfast. But this time, he could hardly do that, as it was just after midnight, and Filch wouldn't care that he was a Prefect. He changed into another pair of pajamas and lay down, resigning himself to staring at the hangings of his four-poster until morning. However, he was able to fall asleep, and for the first two hours, he didn't dream at all. When he did dream of Hermione again, it was of her visiting him in hospital after he had a heart attack while shagging the living daylights out of her. Bloody hell. The cycle continued throughout the week. 

He was finally able to sleep soundly the night before Gryffindor's first Quidditch match of the year against Hufflepuff. In fact, he overslept, and by the time he sprinted into the Great Hall, his teammates were just about to raise their goblets in a pre-game toast. 

"What took you so long, Ron? Hurry up and grab a goblet! We're going to start a new tradition," Angelina barked at him. 

He looked around for a goblet, but Ginny had taken the last one and was drinking from it. He couldn't reach out and borrow it, as she was seated on the other side of the table. Hermione, on the other hand, was within reach, and she had just put down her teacup. It was still half full. He reached out and borrowed her cup, giving her hand a light squeeze as he did so. Her cheeks turned pink almost immediately. He would have wanted to say something to her, but then the rest of the team was waiting for him. 

Angelina raised an eyebrow when she saw the teacup in his hand. "Er, sorry," he mumbled. 

"Never mind, that'll have to do. Here's to Gryffindor..." 

"Go, lions!" Harry called out. 

"Let's keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best!" 

"Shut up, Fred!" Alicia poked Fred in the ribs. 

"Let out epitaphs say, 'We tried to win, and we died trying!'" 

"Stop it, George!" Katie hit George's arm. 

"Here's to us, let's show them what we're made of!" Ron finished. 

"TO US!" The rest of the team cried out, and drained their goblets. 

Ron drank as much of the tea as he could (it was hot, after all), and gave Hermione her cup back. She smiled at him and mouthed, "good luck!" He felt as though he was walking on air. 

As they were walking towards the Quidditch field, Harry lurched a bit to one side. "What's wrong, Harry? Do you feel sick or something?" Ron asked worriedly. 

"No, I'm fine. Just nervous, I think," Harry answered. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure. Whoops!" Harry seemed to be tripping over his own feet. 

Ron stopped walking and grabbed Harry's arm to steady him. "Something's wrong with you." 

Harry shook off Ron's grip on his arm. "And I told you, nothing's wrong wi' me. Nerv- nerv-, jittery, jiggery, whatever, just-- just that." 

Ron scowled at Harry. "Right, that's it, I'm telling Angelina you're nutters." 

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and wouldn't let go. "No, you're not. I'm f-- fi-- okay. What're you, a squeakmouse or a-- hey, look at that hair! You're a pumpkinhead!" 

"Geroff, Harry! What the hell is wrong with you?" 

"Hey, did you just swear? Cool!" Alicia said as she bumped into the two boys. 

"Alicia, something's wrong with Harry. Look at him!" 

Alicia looked at Harry for a second. "There's nothing wrong with him. In fact, he's CUTE! Better-looking than Oliver, even." 

"Stop it, you two. Is this some sort of joke you're all playing on me 'cause I'm new on the team? I'm telling you right now, this isn't funny." 

"Look, Harry, his cute wittle ears are turning pink!" 

"They turn all sorts of colours, too. And his face turns green sometimes." 

"Cool!" 

Ron was getting nervous and irritated -- a combination that he knew would break his concentration if he didn't settle down. He looked around, and saw Angelina, Katie and the twins already standing in the middle of the field. But they seemed to be swaying from side to side and struggling to remain upright. What's wrong with everyone? He grabbed Harry and Alicia's arms and pulled them along. 

"What took you so long?" Angelina demanded as soon as they were within earshot, all the while swaying like a drunk. 

"Something's wrong with these two. They're acting odd." 

"No, we're not. He's the one whose ears change colour," Alicia giggled. 

"See what I mean? They've been like that since we stepped out of the castle." 

"Never mind, they'll get over it. Nothing like a good game of Quidditch to wake us up, eh?" Angelina said. 

Before anyone else could speak, Madam Hooch signaled both teams to come forward. Angelina grabbed Harry, then Alicia, by the shoulders and gave each of them a quick shake, and then shook herself. The action seemed to clear their heads. Then Angelina and Harry stepped forward unsteadily, as though their feet were trying to walk off in a different direction from where their brains were urging them to go. At last they were able to stop in front of Krum and shake his hand. Ron and Krum nodded to each other, but did not exchange words. Ron watched Harry, Angelina and Alicia carefully as they got onto their brooms. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and all the players flew to their respective positions. 

As Ron took his place in front of the hoops, he noticed that the other Gryffindors seemed to be flying erratically. What the hell was going on? He couldn't believe his eyes when the Quaffle was released. Angelina, Katie and Alicia just stayed where they were and let Hufflepuff take possession. Three yellow streaks were hurtling towards him. His teammates didn't even budge. He was almost caught off-guard, but at the last second, he was able to block the Hufflepuffs' attempt to score. He threw the Quaffle as far as he could towards Katie, but Katie just flew around in circles, ignoring the ball, more intent on making her Quidditch robes whip in the breeze. Angelina and Alicia were tracing double-eight patterns in the air, laughing eerily like hags. He looked around at his other teammates desperately. Fred and George were trying to hit each other with their Beater's clubs, laughing maniacally whenever one of them hit the other, or themselves. It was only by pure luck that they were able to deflect the Bludgers several times. Harry was flying an inch off the ground, watching the grass stirring in the current he created. 

During the next ten minutes, the Hufflepuffs tried to score three more times, and each time Ron was able to block the Quaffle, but at the cost of being hit by the Bludgers. After one particularly painful encounter, where a Bludger grazed his temple and broke open his skin, Ron waved frantically for a time-out. Madam Hooch blew her whistle. The Hufflepuff team quickly flew down and went into a huddle, but the Gryffindors were still flying around stupidly. Ron had to grab each of his teammates and point them towards the ground. He pulled Harry along to where the rest of the team stood, blinking like owls caught outdoors at noon. 

"All right, what the bloody hell do you all think you're doing?" Ron bellowed, while wiping the blood off his temple. He heard a hysterical giggling behind him, and turned around to see Hermione and Ginny standing there. Ginny was looping her hair around and around her little finger, while ogling Harry and tittering madly. Harry stared back at her with his mouth open. 

"They've been dosed with Bewildering Draught," Hermione answered. "It's effects on the drinker can best be described as a combination of the Obliviate and Confundus charms. The potion's taste can only be disguised if mixed with something liquid, so it must have been either in the tea or in the pumpkin juice." 

"We both drank tea, but we're fine. So it must have been in the pumpkin juice." 

"I think you're right." 

"Has any other student been affected?" 

"No, just Ginny. Whoever did this must have targeted only Gryffindors." 

"Has any other Gryffindor been affected?" 

"Not that I know of." 

"But some of the other Gryffindors must have drunk pumpkin juice this morning. Why aren't they affected as well?" Ron asked. He and Hermione looked at each other for a few seconds before he blurted out, "the goblets! The toast! The team drank from the goblets. Ginny was holding the last one when I came in. Do you remember?" 

Hermione's eyes widened. "There were seven goblets and a jug of pumpkin juice on a tray near Angelina's plate this morning. She said she ordered it from the kitchens so the team could have a pre-game toast, instead of her and Harry having to make a speech. They were all getting impatient because you weren't there yet, so Ginny took your goblet as a joke." 

"Looks like the joke was on her." He blinked a few times. It was getting harder to see. His eye was swelling. With his one good eye, he scanned the stands. He saw Malfoy and several other Slytherins smirking. "I bet Malfoy brewed the potion and slipped it into the juice. I'll break his slimy, scrawny neck if it's the last thing I do!" 

"We can't prove he was involved, at least, not at the moment." 

"But look at the little ferret! It's written all over his face!" 

Hermione looked at him worriedly. "Calm down, Ron. We'll deal with him later. What are you going to do right now? Madam Hooch should know about this." 

"Right." He waved to Madam Hooch, and she came towards them. After explaining the situation to her, the referee made her decision. "If your teammates are unfit to play, Weasley, then you'll have to forfeit the game." 

"WHAT?! You mean, just hand over a victory to the Hufflepuffs without a fight? Not a chance!" he roared. 

"You're going to lose anyway. Look at them! They don't even know which end of a broomstick goes in front. And _you're_ bleeding. If that eye swells shut, you won't be able to see clearly." 

"Look, Professor, give us ten minutes to turn this game around. If we can't score by then, you can declare Hufflepuff the winner. Hermione will treat my wound, and I'll be fine. Please give us a chance. It's my first game. If we're going to lose, I want to go down fighting. Please." 

Madam Hooch considered him for a few moments. "All right, Weasley, ten minutes, but that's it. I'll give you two minutes before I resume the game." She walked away. 

He turned to Hermione. "You'll fix me up, won't you?" 

"I don't know if I can. It looks pretty bad." 

"Just try, please." Hermione looked scared, but she nodded and cast a spell on his wound. He felt the throbbing pain lessen considerably, and he could see better. "Thanks. You'd better take Ginny to the hospital wing, so Madam Pomfrey can give her an antidote or something." 

"There's no antidote to Bewildering Draught. It will have to wear off on its own." 

"How long will that take?" 

"It depends. Even if it's only a small dose, it'll take at least an hour to wear off, although it might wear off sooner if the person who took it moved around a lot." 

"Bloody hell." 

"Ron, are you sure about this? Even if Madam Hooch declares Hufflepuff the winner right now, they don't have any points yet. You can catch up later." 

"I'm sure. Go on, now." 

She reached up and touched his cheek. "Good luck, Ron." She grabbed Ginny and ran back to the stands. Ginny was still giggling as Hermione led her away. 

Ron turned to his teammates, who continued to stand there stupidly, except Fred and George, who were whacking each other on the shins with their clubs. "All right! Listen to me! We have a game to play, so pay attention." He picked up the Quaffle, which was lying on the ground near his feet. "Angelina! Katie! Alicia! Look at this ball. You have to get this ball from the other team and put it through those hoops." He pointed towards the hoops Hufflepuff was guarding. "Do you understand? That's all you have to remember. Get this ball. Put it through those hoops. All right?" 

"Right," the three girls chanted. "Get the hoops, put them through the ball." 

"No, no, no!" He repeated the whole thing three times, and made them say it back to him. Then he took each girl by the shoulders, and gave them a vigorous shake while repeating his instructions. 

Then he moved on to Harry, telling him what he needed to do, and shaking him more vigorously than he did the Chasers. "Remember, Harry, DO NOT follow Krum if you don't see him going after the Snitch. You know what the Snitch is, right? It's the little golden ball with silver wings. Don't forget that. And, listen carefully, _you have to catch the Snitch before Krum does._ All right?" Harry nodded, his glasses askew from Ron's shaking. 

The twins were more troublesome. They kept trying to hit him on the shins as he explained what they were supposed to do. In the end, he had to slap each of them upside the head to make them settle down and listen. 

Madam Hooch blew her whistle. The two teams flew back into position. Ron crossed his fingers. If his teammates didn't come through, he would just have to fight back with everything he had. Even if Hufflepuff was sure to win, he was not going to make it easy for them. 

To his amazement, Angelina was able to intercept the Quaffle and was now flying frighteningly fast towards the hoops Hufflepuff was guarding. She seemed to remember something, because she suddenly tried to skid to a stop and attempted to throw the Quaffle into the hoop without going through it herself. Her move would have been similar to the Transylvanian Tackle, if it hadn't been for the fact that her entire body, not only her fist, was aimed at the Hufflepuff Keeper. Ron's opposite number had been too shocked to do anything more than stare open-mouthedly at the oncoming Angelina, when the Chaser stopped barely an inch away from the Hufflepuff's nose. Angelina pitched the Quaffle over the Keeper's head and scored. But because of her momentum, she nearly slid off her broom, and dangled on her hands until the Hufflepuff Keeper gave her a hand up again. Angelina kissed him on the cheek and giggled as she flew away. 

Hufflepuff tried to score, but Ron was able to block their attempt, and at the same time, send the Quaffle Katie's way. However, when Katie got a hold of the ball, she promptly started flying towards him. He shouted himself hoarse before Katie understood and flew back to the other end of the field. Hufflepuff blocked her attempt to score, and took possession of the Quaffle. 

Meanwhile, Fred and George had continued whacking each other in the shins with their clubs. But just then, Fred must have given George a particularly hard blow, because George had tried to pelt a Bludger towards his twin, but the ball glanced on his club, hitting one of the opposing Beaters squarely in the stomach instead. Fred howled with laughter and tried to concuss his twin with the other Bludger, but instead, the Bludger hit one of the Hufflepuff Chasers in the shins, making her howl in pain. Ron had an easier time blocking the Quaffle, as he had only two Chasers to contend with. 

In retaliation, the Hufflepuff Beaters aimed both Bludgers at Ron, while their teammates attempted to score. One of the Bludgers hit him, but the momentum propelled him backward and to the right, just in front of the hoop, allowing him to catch the Quaffle. He threw the ball in Alicia's direction, hoping she would catch it and try to score. Just then, he saw Krum racing after the Snitch, while Harry -- Harry was directly in the Snitch's path, but wasn't paying attention at all. In fact, Harry was yawning and was beginning to stretch his arms upward. 

"HARRY! THE SNITCH! CATCH THE SNITCH!" Ron forced all the air out of his lungs into that cry. 

Luckily, Harry heard his cry and extended his arms just as the Snitch flew towards him. His fingers wrapped around the tiny ball. Unfortunately, Krum was unable to swerve away from Harry, and the two Seekers collided with a sickening thud. Ron flew towards them at his top speed and grabbed both of them by their robes, preventing them from falling to the ground. Madam Hooch flew towards Ron, and with her help, they landed safely. Harry's nose was bleeding heavily, but he was still holding the Snitch. 

The roar of the crowd was pounding in Ron's ears. He vaguely felt something hit him as he caught Harry and Krum, and that must have been the reason why his wound reopened and started bleeding again. As they landed, his teammates seemed to be overcoming the effects of the Bewildering Draught. They were shaking their heads as if to clear the fog from their brains. But as they recovered, he started to feel faint and lightheaded. 

He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly Angelina, Katie and Alicia were taking turns kissing him, and then they were hugging him so tightly he could hardly breathe. He started feeling the sore spots on his body where he had been hit by the Bludgers, and he struggled to break free of the Chasers' grip. It took Fred and George to pry the three girls off him. Harry was saying something about making him Captain, and the others were agreeing. He tried to object, but Harry glared at him until his voice trailed off. Then he saw Hermione standing beside him, looking as though someone had slapped her. He pulled her into a tight hug, but she didn't hug him back. She must have seen Angelina, Katie and Alicia... Oh, hell, no, not now... 

"'Mione, I -- I didn't tell them to do that,... I didn't. Please..." His eyes were starting to go out of focus. 

"Congratulations, Ron," was all she said in a choked voice before she moved away. Her sudden loss unbalanced him, and he grabbed hold of Ginny, who had stepped into his arms, and held onto her until his knees wobbled. 

As he was being taken to the hospital wing, Ron realized two things: he was now the Gryffindor team Captain, and through no fault of his own, he had just broken Hermione's heart. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he passed out. 


	8. Chapter 8 She's the Champion

**CHAPTER EIGHT - SHE'S THE CHAMPION**  
  
  
  


**A/N:** Okay, here it is... (drum roll please) the long overdue Chapter 8. I don't know if this chapter would have been written at all if it hadn't been for the gentle encouragement *coughKickedMyButtcough* of my friend Audrey. If in case you already forgot what this story was about, please take the time to reread Chapters One to Seven. Oh, and one more thing... since this has become an AU fic as of 21 June 2003, please leave a review after you've finished reading to let me know if I should go on developing this story. Thanks! Hope you enjoy this little chappie!  
  
  
  


Hermione pulled out her N.E.W.T. study guide in Arithmancy and tried to read it, but when she realized she had been staring at the same page for the last five minutes without having read a single word, she snapped the book shut. It was no use denying the fact that Ron was all she could think about. How did things between them ever become this complicated? Surely they were addressing this -- this -- unbearable situation, the wrong way. Even now, she couldn't quite admit to herself exactly what he meant to her. It wasn't as if she was a coward -- after all, she _was_ in Gryffindor -- it's just that if she even thought about it, she knew that the precarious balance they'd both worked so hard to maintain would come crashing down. But then again, hadn't it almost crashed down so many times before? In fifth year alone, they had come so close to losing each other. 

Before she knew it, her thoughts had flown back to the events of the first Hogsmeade weekend in fifth year. It was probably the stupidest thing she ever did: she just stood there while two boys battled it out for her. They didn't get into a fist fight, but it didn't change the fact that she deliberately set one boy against the other. She was surprised that they still talked to her afterwards. She had fully expected that neither of them would like her very much after what had happened. 

The afternoon was turning to dusk as Viktor carried her packages all the way from Hogsmeade and into the castle, until they came to the corridor where they separated to go into their respective dormitories. Ron took the packages from Viktor, nodded to him and waited for her to thank Viktor and say good-bye to him. Then she and Ron proceeded to Gryffindor tower in silence. He wouldn't look at her, and she couldn't look at him because he would see the tears that she was trying so hard to hide. When they came to the prefects' quarters at last, he set her packages down on the floor of her room and left her without a word. 

That wasn't her idea at all. Her idea was: Ron would confront her again, yell all sorts of nonsense at her for a few moments until he saw the tears in her eyes, then he would grab her into a desperate hug and kiss her until she forgot her own name. She let her imagination carry her off into Ron's arms until she was interrupted by-- 

"Miss, is you awake? I is bringing your dinner." 

She nearly jumped out of bed in surprise. She turned to where the voice was coming from, and saw a house-elf bearing a tray of food. "But I -- I didn't ask for dinner." 

"No, Miss. Sir is telling me to bring your dinner." 

"Who... who is 'Sir'?" 

"Sir with the red hair and a badge, Miss." 

She gasped. Ron had asked the house-elf to bring her dinner. Why did he do that? He never did that before. When they fought during their third year, he didn't care whether she was alive or dead. She, on the other hand, cried her eyes out at the thought of Ron almost being stabbed dead by Sirius Black, whom they all thought was a criminal back then. Why did he care now? Does this mean he-- 

"Miss? Your dinner is getting cold." 

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry." 

"I is leaving the tray here, Miss, in case you is hungry later. I is bringing Miss her breakfast tomorrow." 

"It's all right. You don't have to do that." 

"Please, Miss, Sir is telling me to bring Miss her food until Miss is going down to the Great Hall again. And Sir is telling me not to listen if Miss is saying she is not hungry." 

"But I -- I --" The house-elf had vanished. 

She tried to stop thinking about Ron, she really did. She opened her Transfiguration textbook and tried to follow her revising schedule for the O.W.L.s, but there was a voice inside her head that kept on insisting Ron cared for her until she almost believed it. She gave up, and for lack of anything else to do, she glanced at the food tray the house-elf had brought her. The thought that Ron had made sure she wouldn't go hungry even though he was furious with her filled her with warmth. Then she felt hunger. She ate as though that was the first meal she had had in weeks. 

The next day, however, the thought of facing Ron again in the Great Hall filled her with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. She had wanted to go downstairs that morning, but her knees wouldn't stop shaking, and butterflies fluttered inside her. She decided to wait until lunch, but then the butterflies in her stomach had turned into Cornish pixies, and they bounced inside her so riotously that she knew she would make a fool of herself if she even tried to go downstairs. She wanted to see him, but she was so terrified of what might happen if she did. What if he hated her? What if he thought of her as just a friend? What if he really -- cared for her? 

Her entire body was protesting her decision to go downstairs for dinner. She could hardly get her feet to move. It was as if she'd forgot how to walk. She stopped at the library first, mainly to catch her breath, and to leave a list of the books she needed to borrow with Madam Pince. Then she squared her shoulders and willed herself to reach the Great Hall step by trembling step. She peered inside the Hall before going in. Harry was sitting beside Ginny, and Ron sat on her other side, his plate piled high as usual. She felt a surge of anger pass through her body. He couldn't care for her that much if he could still stuff food into his mouth, while she could hardly stand. 

She walked into the Hall with her head held high. She stopped between Harry and Ginny and nudged Harry aside so she could sit between them. She helped herself to some steak and kidney pie, but all she could really do was push the food around her plate. She glanced at Ron out of the corner of her eye, as she had to pretend she didn't want to look at him. He had stopped eating and was looking at her as though she had ruined his dinner, his weekend, and his entire life, for that matter -- at least, that was how she interpreted the look in his eyes. She couldn't stand it anymore, so she left the table and hurried away. As she was leaving the Hall, she could hear Ginny stopping Ron from following her. She made a mental note to thank Ginny later for helping her escape from him. As soon as she passed through the doors of the Great Hall, she broke into a run. 

She went as fast as her feet could carry her back to the library. Madam Pince had been waiting for her to take the books she asked to borrow. She gathered the books and arranged them carefully so she could carry them off in one trip back to her quarters. She couldn't risk running into Ron tonight. It was a mistake for her to even try to make up with him. The best thing she could do now was to answer that stupid letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that came just after she woke up that morning. On any other day, she could have calmly taken what it contained, but today, it was just too much to bear. She had to try and save S.P.E.W. from being disbanded, of course, but she didn't even know if her heart could take another beating if she couldn't. Why did this trouble have to come _today_, of all days? She carefully blinked her tears back, balanced the books in her arms and started walking towards the door. She had to do something, anything, to get her mind off Ron. She had to -- CRASH! She ran into someone on her way out of the library, someone who spoke in a very familiar voice, and sported a very familiar crop of red hair as he stooped to pick up her books. Uh-oh. It was Ron. 

She started to apologize, but he cut her off and said he was the one who should be sorry. Then he said something about her having the right to like whoever she wanted. Her heart dropped to the floor. He didn't care for her. But, no matter how bitterly disappointed she was, she decided she wouldn't cry in front of him. She shouldn't cry, she shouldn't let him see how much it hurt her to know he could never care for her the way she wanted him to. 

She wanted nothing more than to be able to walk away from him, but he kept a firm hold on the books she borrowed and asked about them. For some reason, she started telling him about how S.P.E.W. would be disbanded if she didn't -- what? She didn't even know what to do. Even though she knew Ron wouldn't see her as more than a friend, she still couldn't help confiding her fears to him, as though he had the power to make everything all right. But then he gave her the shock of her life when he showed her the list of students he had recruited to join S.P.E.W. It was like an answer to a prayer. He had saved S.P.E.W. without even knowing it, and she didn't even have to ask him. He DID make everything all right. It was like third year all over again, with him taking responsibility for Buckbeak's appeal and not giving up when she had despaired. She threw her arms around him and cried on his chest in exactly the same way she did then. The difference between then and now was, he hugged her back and comforted her. She laughed through her sobs -- Ron was holding her in his arms again. 

Before she could stop herself, she tightened her hold on him, even stepping on a book so she could -- do what? Kiss him? She wanted to. She _had_ to. She couldn't fight it anymore. She had to kiss him even though he didn't care for her more than as a friend. She had to take the risk. He was worth it, even if she made a fool of herself. No one could stop her, she couldn't let anyone stop her from kissing him, absolutely no one-- 

"Miss Granger! You -- you're standing on -- A BOOK?!" 

Well, no one, except Madam Pince, that is. The librarian must have heard the crash of falling books while she was shelving moldy volumes of the Encyclopedia of Potions in the back shelves. For the second time in her life, she felt terribly ashamed. She was guilty of the highest sacrilege a student could ever do to a book: using it as a prop to get a good snog. 

That night, she kept waking up from dreams of Ron taking her in his arms and kissing her until her knees collapsed, that she finally gave up trying to sleep. But then, she couldn't do anything else either, as she kept thinking of him -- how comfortable his arms felt, how solid and warm his body was against hers, and how soft his lips would probably feel. She didn't even need to close her eyes anymore -- she started imagining that he would grab her as she walked past him in between classes, drag her into an empty classroom, and crush his lips against hers until she fainted in his arms. The cycle continued for several days, until she fell into a dreamless sleep out of pure exhaustion. 

She was up long before dawn that Saturday. It was the first Quidditch game of the year, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. It would be Ron's first game. Ever since their near-kiss in the library, she had felt too shy to say more than a few words to him, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he stayed near her as much as he could, silently carried her books for her, and even walked her to her Arithmancy class before dashing off to the North Tower for his Divination class. In return, she smiled timidly at him, piled food on his plate at mealtimes, and dreamt about him at night. That morning, she had wanted to wait up for him in the common room, but Harry had practically dragged her downstairs in his nervousness. She felt bad for forgetting that this was to be his first game as co-captain of the team. 

She started to worry about Ron when the team stood up from the Gryffindor table for the pre-game toast. Where was he? Was he sick or something? She heaved a sigh of relief when she heard footsteps running into the Great Hall. She didn't even have to look up to know it was him. It was only mildly shocking to her to realize that she could tell it was Ron just by the sound of his footsteps. When he borrowed her teacup and drank from it, she saw his lips touch the cup at the same spot hers had touched just moments ago. It was as if they had kissed. The thought was enough to make her break out into her brightest smile. That was the smile he saw when he turned to look at her as the team left for the Quidditch field. He was too far away for her to throw her arms around him, so she mouthed "good luck!" instead. He smiled back and walked away. She couldn't stop calling herself a coward all the way to the Quidditch field. She really should have made an effort to be as close to him as she dared, just as he had done. After all, they had just made up. 

When the game started, she watched in disbelief as the Gryffindor team fell apart. No one but Ron seemed to try and play seriously. The Hufflepuffs were repeatedly trying to score, and kept on bombarding him with Bludgers. At the same time, Ginny, who had been sitting beside her, suddenly started to giggle hysterically and to jump up and down as though attempting to fly, only to land with a plop back on her seat. What was going on? When Ron signaled to Madam Hooch for a time-out, the thought occurred to her that the Gryffindor team, with the exception of Ron, had probably taken a nasty potion without knowing it. But what potion? She turned to look at Ginny. She was now sitting on Seamus Finnigan's lap and was running her fingers through his hair, batting her eyelashes coquettishly, while Seamus was frozen to his seat and looked slightly horrified, slightly amused, and slightly, er, excited, at the same time. She grabbed hold of Ginny's wrist, bringing the giggling girl with her as she ran down the stands to talk to Ron. The answer had just come to her: the Gryffindor team had been dosed with Bewildering Draught. 

It was no use trying to persuade Ron to forfeit the game to Hufflepuff. There was a glint in his eyes that told her his mind was set on playing till the end, knowing that the best he could do was lose honorably. She wanted so badly for him to win. But how could he, when he was hurt, and his teammates were out of their right minds? When he told her to go back to the stands to watch, she felt he was telling her something else: to believe in him. She touched his cheek in an awkward attempt to let him know he had her wholehearted support. She and Ginny had just reclaimed their seats when Madam Hooch blew her whistle to resume the game. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she watched him take his position in front of the hoops. 

She cringed as Ron blocked every attempt Hufflepuff made to score against him. It was almost unbearable to watch him play, as the Bludgers kept on hitting him, while he kept on doggedly guarding the goals. She prayed for the game to end. 

"HARRY! THE SNITCH! CATCH THE SNITCH!" Ron yelled. 

And then, just like that, Harry reached up and caught the Snitch. Viktor, who was chasing the Snitch at his top speed, tried to veer away from Harry, but it was too late. She screamed when Viktor and Harry collided against each other with a crunch that told her their noses would probably be broken. She saw Ron hurtling towards them, grabbing hold of their robes and desperately trying to keep both of them from falling to the ground. Both Harry and Viktor were struggling to keep control of their brooms, and somewhere between those efforts, Viktor's elbow hit Ron's temple, reopening his wound. 

Every Gryffindor around her was cheering wildly and applauding. Gryffindor won the first Quidditch game of the year against Hufflepuff, despite the fact that Viktor was Seeker and Captain, and despite the Bewildering Draught that unknown culprits had slipped into the pumpkin juice the team had drunk as a pre-game toast. Ron had been single-handedly responsible for today's victory. He hadn't given up, he never stopped believing in himself and in his teammates. She let herself drift with the crowd onto the Quidditch field, but as soon as she felt the grass beneath her feet, she ran as fast as her feet could carry her towards Ron. 

'This is it,' she thought. 'I'll fight my way to him, throw my arms around him and not let him go until he kisses me. That should do it. That should finish off this stupid bet. That should be enough to... make him admit what he really feels for me.' She only felt the slightest shock at her own thoughts, but the sight of Ron standing in the middle of the field -- a bloody, bruised and battered hero, solemnly shaking hands with a likewise bruised Viktor -- convinced her that she was brave enough to do it. 

Their eyes met and locked over the uproar of the crowd. Well, at least his one good eye locked onto both of hers. His injury stood out starkly against the pallor of his face, which made her want to comfort him all the more. But before she could take another step forward, Angelina dug her hands into Ron's shoulders, spun him around so that he faced her, then reached up and kissed him full on the mouth. His eyes widened in shock, and his face started turning fuschia. Angelina let go, only to be replaced by Katie. His eyes weren't as wide as before, but he was blushing down to his neck now, and he was still unable to move. Katie stepped away, and Alicia stepped up and pressed her mouth to his. His eyes still had traces of surprise in them, but he was starting to turn pale now. Each kiss he received felt like a dagger thrust to Hermione's heart. 

Then the three Chasers surrounded Ron and wrapped him up in a bone-crushing hug, which made him groan aloud. He was in pain. She wanted to run to him and wrap her arms around him, but realized she didn't have any right to do so. She wasn't his... girlfriend, now was she? What right did she have to push Angelina, Katie and Alicia aside so she could hold him? She watched as Fred and George leapt forward and pried the three girls off Ron, teasing them all the while about molesting their baby brother, and threatening all sorts of retribution. The three girls let him go, laughed at the twins and started cheering. Fred and George started teasing him. 

"You know, we should make him Captain. That ought to make even the first-years grab him and kiss him," Fred joked. 

"Yeah, we really should. His brain's too dense to be affected by any hex or trick potion," George added. 

"I agwee. I wote for Won as team Captain. Anyelina? Atie? Alicia?" Harry's voice sounded as though his nose had been stuffed with cotton, yet no one laughed, as his facial expression was equally serious and fierce. The fact that a heavy nosebleed was staining the front of his Quidditch robes added a spine-tingling effect to his words. 

"Harry! W-what are you--" Ron started to splutter, but Harry turned to him and gave him a look that meant he wouldn't listen to any objections. "Ladies?" Harry turned to the three Chasers, this time with a look that said he wouldn't tolerate any opposition. 

"Right." 

"Count me in." 

"Captain Ron it is." 

"Fwed? Yeorge?" 

The twins turned to Ron. "Why, _Cap_tain, that's a lovely shade of green you're wearing! Clashes horribly with your hair, but still, just lovely... may I borrow it for Halloween?" 

"Oh, Captain, surely you're not going to make us practice at the crack of dawn, now would you?" 

"The way he sleeps, I'm thinking more like the crack of noon would still be too early." 

"Yeah, but he's got a head for the game, doesn't he? A very _thick_ head, I should say." 

"But I'm sure he'll make a good Captain. Won't he, George?" Fred's voice was suddenly serious. 

"Absolutely." George answered in an equally serious voice. 

By that time, Ron's face was an alarming shade of pale, made even paler by the blood trickling down his temple. He was swaying slightly -- he could faint at any moment. She ran towards him, then stopped, unsure of what to do next. When he saw her standing nearby, he reached out and pulled her into a tight, fierce hug. She wanted to forget everything else and just hug him back, but something inside her stopped her. The way he was holding her would have made her melt into him had she not been consumed by jealousy. He was trying to tell her something, he was pleading with her, but she couldn't understand a word he said. She congratulated him and started to move away from him, so he had reluctantly released her and had turned to hug Ginny instead. Then several Gryffindor boys caught hold of him and assisted him to the hospital wing. 

She wanted to follow Ron to the infirmary, but her feet stopped walking, and she remained standing at the edge of the Quidditch field, almost at the spot where she and Ron had hugged on the day of the tryouts. Her eyes were starting to blur with tears. 

George came up to her and kept her company on the Quidditch field. She rounded on him, partly out of anger, partly out of desperation. "I don't want to talk about this, George." 

"I know. I just -- I'm sorry, I didn't know they'd do that. Probably some aftereffect of that potion." 

"It doesn't matter. If you don't mind, I'd like to call off the bet. I'll do anything to make it up to you and Fred, but I can't --" 

"I understand. But please don't take it out on Ron. He didn't expect it, you must have seen that." 

"I -- I know, but --" 

"It hurts just the same, doesn't it?" She didn't notice Fred had come up to them, and had spoken those last words in a soft, sympathetic voice. She nodded. 

George patted her arm. "All right, then. Bet's off for you --" 

"But NOT for Ronniekins. After all, fair is fair. Right, George?" Fred clapped George's shoulder. 

"Riiight... we should give him a hard time, we really should. After all, he locked lips with Katie. Ewww! I kiss that woman everyday, for goodness' sake!" 

"How do you think _I_ feel? Angelina was the first one who kissed him! Yuck!" 

She would have laughed at the twins, had she not felt as though she would explode with grief. She never told anyone that she had secretly rejoiced at the prospect of kissing Ron in front of the whole school for losing the bet, as it would have been one way of knowing if he had any feelings for her. But everything had been ruined, and she had felt a pain she had never known before. And yet, she couldn't leave him to the tender mercies of the twins. 

"No, please... don't make things difficult for him. He's your Captain now, and he deserves some respect. He needs to feel that you'll take him seriously. You'll do that for him, won't you?" She tried to hide the pain in her eyes, but the twins must have seen it, and for once, they didn't tease her about Ron. Instead, they gave her a genuine Weasley promise (which consisted of calling upon various departed ancestors to witness the compact they were entering into, together with a solemn plea to the heavens to send down fire and pestilence on their heads if they neglected to fulfill their word) not to collect on the wager from her or their baby brother as long as they both (she and Ron, or them, she never really knew) shall live. 

The twins wanted her to go with them to visit Ron in the hospital wing, but she couldn't bear to see Angelina, Katie and Alicia hanging around him, so she told them she would drop by later. She went to the library and tried to study, but all she could think about was how splendidly Ron fought on the field, how he never gave up, and how he... held her in his arms. The tears she tried to hold back all day came gushing out. It was so unfair. She had been wanting to kiss Ron for months, and she had been beaten to it by three girls who weren't even in their right minds at the time. She was jealous of them; she couldn't help it and she couldn't stop it. What made her feel even more terrible was the fact that they didn't even care about how soft and warm his lips would feel, or if he would close his eyes when he kissed a girl he liked. She would have cared. She would have wanted to know how it felt like to have Ron kiss her. But now, she never would. Why would he want to kiss her, when three older, prettier, more popular girls were so willing to do it? She continued to sob brokenly until -- 

"Hermy-own-ninny?" 

She looked up. Viktor still had traces of bruises along his face from where he collided full force with Harry during the game, and he was still a bit pale, but was apparently well enough to leave the hospital wing. 

She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand before talking at breakneck speed. "Oh, hello, Viktor. I'm glad you're better now. Please, sit down. Shouldn't you be resting in your quarters? That was quite a collision you had with Harry. We could practically hear your noses break." She could have gone on and on if Viktor hadn't reached out and touched her hand. She fell silent. 

"He is still in the hospital ving. He vas asking for you before he fell asleep," he said in a quiet voice. 

"W-who?" she asked -- stupidly, it seemed, because Viktor gave her a rueful smile. 

"He saved me from falling to the ground. I must haff hit his vound ven I tried to keep my seat on my broom." 

"Oh." There was really nothing she could say. She knew it for a fact: Viktor would have been seriously hurt if it wasn't for Ron. 

"He could haff ignored me. Potter vas falling, too. He could haff tried to save his friend instead of trying to save us both. Vy did he do that? If I vas the one in his place, I vould haff saved my friend first." 

'That's what makes him so different from you,' she thought. 'He'd care enough to save anyone who's in trouble, even someone he was... jealous of.' Yes, it was just the kind of thing Ron would do. It was his nature to be noble, brave and generous whenever it mattered, and he didn't even realize it. And, to top it all off, he just paid her back three times over for making him jealous of Viktor for that Hogsmeade weekend fiasco, without even intending to do it. 

Viktor seemed to be expecting an answer from her. "Well, that's just how Ron is. I can't explain why, but... that's just him. You know, he's really -- I mean, once you get to know him -- well, he's... he's..." She waved her hands around, struggling for words to explain to Viktor what Ron was. 

"I think I understand, Hermy-own-ninny. He's the reason vy I'll never be..." Viktor looked away. 

"Why you'll never be what?" she asked, confused. Viktor stood up. 

"Goodnight, Hermy-own-ninny." With that, he left the library. 

She watched him leave, all the while feeling as though a thick fog had wrapped around her brain. Was Viktor trying to say... she'll never love him because of Ron? But he couldn't have meant that, could he? Of course not. It was the fog in her brain that was playing tricks on her. But then again, he _had_ seen her crying over... over Ron. Viktor must have seen everything that happened between her and Ron at the Quidditch field. And, he had made a point of telling her Ron was asking for her. He probably would have asked her why she was crying in the library instead of staying with Ron in the infirmary, if he hadn't put it all together and figured out what it all meant. She sat there, partly queasy, partly numb, and completely lost in her thoughts. 

The next thing she remembered was Madam Pince throwing everyone out of the library, as it was closing time. She was on her way back to Gryffindor tower when she came to a decision. She turned around and walked towards the hospital wing. If Ron was there, he would be asleep by now. 

She stopped by a girl's bathroom to wash her face. She looked into the mirror and scowled. No amount of cold water could hide the fact that she had been crying. Still, she washed her face, fixed her school tie and tried to smooth out her hair. She squared her shoulders as she came out of the bathroom, made sure her Prefect's badge was firmly pinned to the front of her robes, and walked as though it was her business to go where she was going. 

She reached the hospital wing at last. The beds were empty and only one lamp was casting a light into the room. She walked as quietly as she could towards the light, torn between dreading the possibility of meeting Madam Pomfrey, and desperately wishing to find anyone whom she could ask about Ron. She saw a house-elf sorting and placing vials of potions into a cabinet, a house-elf wearing a dirty blouse and skirt. Could it be... 

"Winky? Is that you?" she whispered. 

"Yes, miss," Winky answered in a low squeak. 

"Are you working in the hospital wing now?" 

"Yes, miss. Winky is feeling better here, where Winky is taking care of people. Is you visiting somebody here, miss?" 

"Yes, I came to see Ron." 

Winky led her to Ron's bed, which was partly shielded from view by a screen. "He is feeling better now. But he is not liking his medicine. He is sticking out his tongue when Madam Pomfrey was giving him a Receding potion for his eye. He is very naughty, winking at Winky and asking for strawberry tarts and treacle fudge. He -- he is reminding Winky of -- of -- M-master Barty," the elf finished with a sob. Winky moved towards Ron's bed, reached out and stroked his hair. "His hair is soft like Master Barty -- he is sleeping peacefully like Master Barty when Master Barty was a boy --" 

A thought occurred to Hermione. "Winky, I know it won't take the place of Mister Crouch's family, but... how would you like to live with Ron's family? They're very kind, you know. They asked me to stay with them last summer. They have the most charming house -- it's called the Burrow. There's a pond, and chickens, and oh, a ghoul in the attic. There's also a huge garden, with lots of gnomes that Ron and his brothers throw over the fence. He has five brothers, and I think they're all naughty like him, well, except Percy. Oh, and a sister, her name's Ginny. She's very friendly, and I'm sure she'd want you to live there. And Mrs. Weasley -- that's Ron's mother -- loves to cook and knit, and I'm sure she would love to have you come and stay with her, if you want. And Mr. Weasley, that's Ron's father, you remember him, don't you? He was there at the Quidditch World Cup, and he tried to tell the other wizards that you didn't -- do anything wrong. I can ask Professor Dumbledore to let you visit the Burrow -- that is, if you want to." 

Winky dried her tears using the hem of her dirty blouse. "Miss, please -- do not speak such words. Winky must not be hearing them. Miss is reminding Winky of something that Winky will never have again." 

Hermione knelt in front of Winky and looked into her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to live with just one family, if that's what you really want. Would you like me to speak to Professor Dumbledore about it? I don't think he would mind if you felt like going somewhere else." 

"Indeed, Miss, Winky is wanting to live with a family. But -- but -- Winky has work to do here. Winky serves the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry now. Winky will be given clothes again if the Headmaster finds out what Winky is feeling. Winky cannot bear to be dismissed again." She was wringing her hands as she spoke, as though trying to fight the impulse to hit her head against the wall. 

"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be dismissing you if you wanted to live elsewhere. He would want you to be happy." Hermione hoped Winky would see that she meant every word she said. 

The elf's eyes grew even wider, looking partly terrified, yet hopeful. "W-winky -- Winky has to go now, Miss. W-- I has work to do." 

"Winky..." The elf had vanished even before Hermione could blink. 

She sighed as she stood up. She turned towards the bed, and realized that she was alone with Ron. She reached out and gently stroked Ron's hair, just as Winky had done. Winky was right -- Ron's hair was so soft, and he slept as peacefully as a toddler. The swelling around his eye had gone down, but his temple was still purplish black and his face was still pale. She had never seen him look more handsome. 

Acting on impulse, she swept the hair off his forehead. She was leaning forward to kiss him when he stirred. She drew her hand back as though she had been scalded. It was late. She should be going back to Gryffindor tower. She had already turned away when-- 

"Don't go," he whispered. His voice was still foggy with sleep, but it was warm and oddly comforting to hear. 

She swallowed hard before turning back to face him. "You were asleep when I came in, and I didn't want to disturb you." 

"I can't see you very well. Come closer," he said. 

She took one step forward, but thought better of it and pulled back. "Ron, it's late. I really should be going --" 

His answer nearly made her faint. "You've been crying." 

Denial wasn't really an option, as she knew he had already seen how puffy her eyes were. So she tried to keep her voice even as she answered him. "Yes, well, it's not everyday I get to see my two best friends in the whole world get all bloodied up over Quidditch." 

A ghost of a lopsided grin shone through his injuries. "Well... I _did_ get to be a hero for a day, didn't I?" That was when she knew for certain that Ron was going to be fine. As long as he could still crack a joke, there was nothing really wrong with him. 

She tried to sound sarcastic, but she was sure he could hear the hint of laughter and relief in her voice. "Of course, what was I thinking? You'll gladly break all the bones in your body to be one. I'm sure there'll be a Ron Weasley fan club in Hogwarts by tomorrow." 

He chuckled, then grimaced, clutching his side where he had been hit by a Bludger earlier. "I think you've got the wrong patient. Harry's the one with the fan club. You just missed him -- Pomfrey released him before she gave me some nasty stuff that put me out like a light." 

"Hmmph. Harry wasn't the one who got kissed out in the Quidditch field today, now was he?" She nearly clapped her hand to her mouth. Why did she say that? Just when things were starting to go back to normal between them... 

"Oh. Were you... jealous?" The way he looked and the sound of his voice was exactly like Winky's expression just a moment ago: partly terrified, yet hopeful. 

She tried to keep her voice as light and teasing as she could possibly manage, that is, for someone who had spent the past two hours or so crying her eyes out. "You wish." 

A spasm seemed to have shot through him. Then he laughed a second time, making him clutch his side again. "Good Lord, woman, are you trying to kill me?" he gasped. "What is it with you making me laugh, when I feel like Hagrid's danced a jig over my ribs? Haven't I suffered enough for one day?" He was wailing dramatically, but somehow she saw that his eyes were burning. 

She felt a sudden impulse to let him know everything was right between them again. She went as close to his bed as she dared, and gently stroked his hair. "Go back to sleep, then. I'll come back and visit you tomorrow." 

He looked at her for a moment with an odd expression on his face. Then he relaxed and closed his eyes. "Mmm, that feels good. Will you stay on for a bit?" 

"I'll stay till you fall asleep," she assured him. She drew the blankets up to his chest with her free hand. 

He reached for her hand and held it to his chest. "Thanks." He remained silent for a few moments. She thought he had fallen asleep, so she stopped stroking his hair. But then he started to mumble, "you do know I'm sorry, don't you? For calling you a nightmare back in first year. I didn't know you'd be..." His voice trailed off. She noticed that his grip on her hand was starting to loosen. 

She moved her hand the tiniest bit, but he took firm hold of it and continued talking. "...the best friend I could ever have. You're the best, the champion of all best friends... I... I l--" 

She leaned closer to him. His breathing was deep and slow. She waited for him to speak again, to finish what he was trying to say. She needed to hear it. The silence continued to roar around her. She waited. And waited. But he was asleep. 

She stroked his hair a few more times and slowly pulled her hand away from his. He slept on. She was aware of a strange burning sensation inside her. It was a hunger left unfed for too long. What was Ron trying to tell her? Why couldn't he have picked a better time to tell her what he wanted to tell her? Did he-- did he mean to tell her he-- 

She heard footsteps in the vicinity of Madam Pomfrey's office. She slipped away before the matron caught her out of bounds. Halfway back to Gryffindor tower, the thought hit her: Ron cared for her. He just had to. But even flat on his back, groggy with the potions he had taken, he still hadn't let his guard down long enough to say it. Knowing him as she did, there was a possibility that he might never say it. She stumbled along the corridors until she reached her quarters again, torn between weeping over Ron (again) and hitting his head with a Beater's club. 


End file.
